


Something Just Like This

by ellewrites



Series: Meant to be Yours [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: A lot of sex, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst, Break Up, Cheese, Depression, F/M, Fingering, Frotting, Happy Ending, Implied/Reference Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Miscarriage, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Sex, Sharing a Bed, i'm not trying to lie to you guys, it's a past suicide attempt, my boys aren't that far gone, not current for the fic, of course i forgot that one but i mean it must be obvious, rampant drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 89,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellewrites/pseuds/ellewrites
Summary: Disillusioned with the cold northeast and the politics at MIT, Tony convinces Bruce to join him on at trip to Miami for Winter Break after getting dumped by his long time girlfriend, Betty. They both have reasons for wanting to escape, but little did they know they would be finding more than just sun and sand on South Beach.(This fic is exactly what you think it is.)





	1. Friday, December 21 (pt. 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to hell my dudes! It’s 2019 and I still ship science bros! So when I say welcome to hell, I’m really IN HELL. The document details say I started this fic December 18, 2017 but ha that is actually the third time I had started this fic so, for whatever that’s worth...
> 
> That said, this was originally intended to be a short vignette style Christmas fic. Obviously, I fucked up somewhere along the way, because it is most assuredly not that. I definitely have some reservations about not posting this near Christmas but you know what? Life is too short to get myself all bent out of shape about that. 
> 
> Some places in this are very real and well researched and others are completely fabricated. YOU GUESS! ;-)
> 
> Also, my wonderful girlfriend deserves all the credit here for listening to me GO OFF on this all of a sudden out of literally NOWHERE for an entire month while I finished it and then read it for me and made edits so I don’t sound like the total garbage I am. <3

Finally the snow had stopped. It had been off and on all day but now it was over, everything covered in that crisp white sheet, frozen on top, very few students left on or near campus to disturb it. Bruce did, though, following in the filled in footsteps that came before him, making his way to Betty’s apartment.

There was a bag over his shoulder and a box in his hand that contained her favorite Chocolate Grand Marnier cake from her favorite bakeshop in Boston. It had taken him an hour round trip on public transit and cost almost fifty dollars but it didn’t feel like enough. He’d wanted to get her a really nice piece of jewelry, a ring actually, and he’d saved a while for it and he had one picked out but then his aunt called even though she wasn’t supposed to and told him about how his mother was going to lose her house if she couldn’t come up with the mortgage payment – and the decision was obvious. He didn’t leave her to attend MIT in an attempt to give her an easier life only to abandon her now in his final year. 

He told himself it was better this way. Honestly, if he really let himself think about it, he couldn’t be entirely sure Betty would say yes given they were so close to graduating. Maybe she would want to wait, especially with how stressed they had been and how little they had seen of each other. And once they had graduated, assuming he could find a job, he could afford a much nicer ring, one that was more worthy of her. It was just... 

They were headed on a romantic trip to Vermont for the weekend before she went home for Christmas. He had made his requisite A’s to maintain his scholarship for their final semester, though his extreme workload had come close to destroying their relationship, and he wanted it to be really special. She had paid for the whole thing, like usual, and he just wanted to give her...  _ something _ . Something more than a cake.

But a cake would have to do.

Betty’s apartment was nice – much nicer than the campus apartments but also far more expensive. It was one of those places with a lobby attendant he had to get past and a gorgeous view of the city from the living area. Usually it made Bruce uncomfortable. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to it. Once she had mentioned him moving in there after graduation but the thought made his skin crawl. Not that he wouldn’t do it if that's what she wanted. The kind of place he’d probably pick out wouldn’t really be her thing anyway.

Bruce took the elevator to the fifteenth floor, stepping off with a little apprehension. It had honestly been a while since he’d been here, maybe a month, and the last few times they’d seen each other had been rough. It was the stress, of course – his senior thesis and his job and trying to maintain his scholarship and trying to decide whether to go for a fifth year master degree, not to mention  _ her _ coursework and internship and social obligations – but still. He just wanted this weekend to be perfect.

Although he had a key he knocked on the door anyway and Betty answered promptly, a big smile on her face, instantly washing Bruce with relief. He smiled himself as she pulled him in, giving him a celebratory kiss and taking the cake graciously. 

“Oh Bruce, you didn’t have to,” she gushed, “but we will  _ definitely _ be taking this with us. I love this cake.”

“Merry Christmas,” Bruce replied with a grin, a little abashed, shoving his hands in his pockets. When she was in a good mood, she always made him feel this way – stuffed full of butterflies.

She set the box on the counter, looked back at him, and smirked in a way that went straight to his heart. This was good. This was what he wanted. A nice relaxed weekend where they were both in a good mood.

“I’ve got to grab a few more things,” she called over her shoulder as she walked to the bedroom. “Would you mind getting a bag for that and grabbing the champagne from the counter?”

Bruce set down his own bag and fulfilled her request, setting the food down next to his bag and padding into her bedroom where she was finalizing her own bag, putting in her hair dryer and toiletries. He slipped his hands up under her sweater, feeling her lean hips, the soft skin of her belly as he wrapped his arms around her. Bruce nosed her hair away from her neck and simply breathed in the smell of her, pressing his lips against the place where her neck met her shoulder. And for the first time in a long time, Betty melted back into him. Usually she tensed up or pushed him off or just endured it, but her shoulders relaxed back into his body and she put her hands over his through her sweater, holding them there. 

“I love you,” he mumbled in her ear, kissing at it, and she laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. 

“I love you too,” she replied, pulling away to grab her robe from the bed. “But if I don’t finish this we’ll never leave.”

Bruce let her go reluctantly, hands falling from her hips as he watched her pack the last few things. Honestly, he would have been okay holed up here for two and a half days. He just wanted to be with her. It was the biggest wedge in their relationship, the one thing he didn’t think she could ever really understand. He didn’t need or even  _ want _ a fancy apartment or expensive trips – he just wanted to be with her.

Betty zipped the bag triumphantly and turned around, smiling. “Done!” 

“Come here,” he murmured, reaching out to her, pulling her towards him, kissing her softly before separating a minute to look her in the eyes. “You know I’d be just as happy to be here with you and some shitty take-out, right?” 

But Betty rolled her eyes and frowned, putting distance between them again and his heart sank. He ruined it. He didn’t know how, but Bruce knew instantly that he ruined it. 

“Let’s not do this right now.”

“Do what?” Bruce asked and Betty’s face fell even further, into disbelief, as she pushed her bangs back from her forehead. 

The pit in his stomach felt cavernous as he watched her defenses go up. 

“It’s always like this with you – do you not want to go?” It came out like an accusation and it stung, made him feel like she didn’t  _ want _ him to go.

“No, I want to go,” Bruce assured her, feeling lost, like she was a million miles away even though he could reach out and touch her she was so close. “I just – always like what?”

“Come on, Bruce,” she asked, turning back around, grabbing the suitcase, clearly wanting to drop it but Bruce couldn’t, he couldn’t let it go, he wanted to know –  _ needed _ to know – how to fix it, what the right words were to make her understand, to make things good again.

“I just want –”

“You just want to take care of me –  _ but you can’t _ !”

Bruce stepped back, shocked, like she had slapped him. Her eyes – fuck. They were so angry and honest and he knew she knew she shouldn’t have said it, he could tell by the way her eyes softened at the end, but it was too late – the words were out. And Bruce knew it, you know –  _ he _ knew it... but he didn’t want  _ her _ to know it. But she did. 

Betty sighed and sat down on the bed next to the suitcase and leaning in against it, looking exhausted. 

“I’m always going to have more money than you. Always. And after all this time, if you can’t accept that – maybe we should just take a break.”

Bruce blinked, hearing everything in slow motion. He had been considering proposing to her and with one misplaced sentence she was suggesting they break up? Yeah, things had been hard recently but... He couldn’t even begin to wrap his brain around what she was suggesting.

“A break?” he repeated, tongue feeling too thick in his mouth, like he could hardly get the words out. 

“I don’t know,” she sighed, looking away, twisting her hair through her fingers, “I wanted to try but... The last few months have been hard and... maybe they’ve been better when we’ve not been together.”

Bruce couldn’t even think of anything to say, he felt like she’d stuck a knife straight in his gut. She was happier... without him? Every day they spent apart he only thought of her more and the handful of times they’d had a few hours for dinner and sex were the highlight of his week. He really  _ was _ looking forward to this weekend, even. It wasn’t even her paying for it that bothered him – in three and a half years he’d gotten used to being surrounded by peers with trust funds and large amounts of disposable cash – he just wanted her to understand there was more than that, that if things weren’t how they were and neither of them had any money, he would still love her and take care of her and...

Well, it didn’t matter now.

“That’s what you want?” he asked at last and Betty just kind of shrugged, looking defeated. 

“I don’t know.” Truthfully she didn’t look like she felt much better about it than him, running her finger across the bottom of her eye in an effort not to cry. 

“You don’t?” Bruce shot back defensively, feeling himself getting shitty as the reality of what was happening sunk in. “Because you were pretty fucking quick with that suggestion.”

“Please don’t,” Betty asked, and Bruce hated to see her like that, hated to see her hurting but fuck, it felt like the hole in his stomach might swallow him and he’d never crawl back out and he didn’t know how to help her when what she wanted hurt this bad. “You’re so good to me and –”

“No,” Bruce interrupted, not wanting to hear any ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit or anything else. “If that’s what you want, that’s what you want.”

“Just for the break, just until I figure things out,” Betty clarified quickly, standing, trying to walk towards him – but the damage was already done and nothing she said right then would be able to cauterize the wound she just made.

“Just for the break,” he repeated, emotionless, not even knowing what that meant or what to hope for. They’d had some pretty big fights before but... a break?

Betty wrapped her arms around him, her head tucked up under his chin where it always fit so perfectly, and reflexively Bruce ran his hands through her hair. 

“I love you,” she mumbled into his chest but he didn’t feel it at all. 

“I love you,” he repeated again, easier than saying any of the other things he wanted to say – and at least, on his end, it was true.

**

Bruce stared at the inside of the nearly empty refrigerator blankly, knowing what was there, not needing to process it, but staring anyway. The words were still ringing in his head – not even the words themselves, but the  _ finality _ in them. The bus ride home had been miserable. He just couldn’t stop repeating it.

_ “Maybe we should just take a break.” _

He jerked himself forward and his fingers reached out for a beer automatically. There was a different feeling in his gut now, welling up inside of him. He could feel it spreading there, like the cold spot just under your toes in the middle of the lake when you drop your head below the water. It was there, and he could feel it, but it wouldn’t overwhelm him – no matter how much he wanted it too. It just sat there, in the bottom of his stomach, numbing him.

The cap cut into his palm as he twisted it off, taking a long swig of the shitty IPA Pietro favored. He was gone for the holidays – visiting his twin sister on her study abroad in Paris over Christmas – as was Steve. Tony was probably staying at Pep’s until she left for home in a few days and that left Bruce alone. He wasn’t supposed to be alone – knew that if he’d not had plans with Betty, Tony would have come and checked in on him. Tony always came and checked in on him. 

But he wasn’t going to interrupt him now. Instead he grabbed another beer out of the fridge, wandered to the couch and flopped down, pulling the chenille throw Pepper had gotten for their apartment up to his chin as he gulped down hops. 

He reached for the remote out of habit, but he just held it in his hand. All intention, but there was no follow through left. Maybe it was dumb for him to come to MIT at all. He didn’t belong here, he didn’t belong in this world. Hell, this singular throw blanket probably cost more than any set of bed sheets he’d ever owned. Take care of Betty? Yeah, right. 

Bruce opened the second bottle, letting the first lay abandoned on the floor. He had about $15 to his name right now and she was right, she was right...

The numb feeling grew to the point where he couldn’t even smell the beer under his nose because he just didn’t care. What was he going to do without her? She was... she was everything. She told him where to be, where they were going, what to wear, how to act. She knew everything, every part of him, she even knew that he could never be what he wanted most to be for her – provider. And she was kind enough to keep it from him. But God what a burden. No wonder she said her time was spent better without him. 

Bruce’s teeth bit down hard into his lower lip, the rim of the bottle clinking faintly on them. That was it – that was what was going to finally do him in? The reality that he was a burden? It was something he’d known all his life, why would Betty see it any differently? She was better off. If he loved her – and fuck,  _ how he loved her _ – then he should be happy for her. She deserved better. She deserved – 

The door to the apartment clicked open and for a brief moment his heart leapt in his chest as he played it out –  _ her eyes soft and forgiving, like always, her hair mussed up from her rush to come over, little streaks in her make-up, faintly, from tears, and she would smile when she saw him, and it would light up the room, and she would say she was sorry, she got her temper from her father and her impulsiveness from her mother, that she loved him, that finals were rough but that they needed this trip, that they could still go if he would just promise not to mention money, that it didn’t matter, she didn’t care about paying for everything, just please Bruce let it go, please let it go _ – but it was Tony. Not that Tony wasn’t surprising enough. They both kind of looked at each other in shock as the door fell closed... but as usual, Tony got the first word in. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to some fancy B&B in Vermont?”

Bruce grunted, barely audible, and asked around the beer bottle at his mouth – “aren’t  _ you _ supposed to be shacked up at Pep’s?” 

Tony didn’t answer, shrugging out of his coat instead and swinging the fridge open as he threw the coat on the counter. 

“What in the hell are you drinking?” he asked as he perused the limited selection. 

“This shit Pietro drinks.”

“Fuck,” Tony muttered, but Bruce heard the bottles clink as he pulled one out for himself. 

Though Tony hadn’t taken a single sip as he fell into the seat across from Bruce, looking defeated, he reached the bottle out and Bruce leaned forward to clink the necks together. He knew Tony and Pepper had been having a tough time too, since the abortion – which he had only found out about by accident – but he also knew that if Tony was  _ really _ low it was best to leave him alone. Steve found that out the hard way after Tony’s nanny had died and he tried to get him to open up about it and left sporting a black eye. Besides, Tony and Pepper? They always had it together. They always figured it out. They weren’t like him and Betty. 

“So what in the hell  _ are _ you doing here?” Tony asked, gesturing with the bottle but still not drinking while Bruce sunk lower into the seat and swallowed it back with the question. “Betty find something better to do?” 

Bruce looked away, out the window and across the parking lot, the row of campus apartments behind that, the stupid blinking wireframe Santa sleigh posted on one apartment’s railing, another with a spindly stick of a tree weighed down by lights. Tony didn’t have to say it so shitty but he knew what Tony thought about Betty so he wasn’t surprised either – Bruce just didn’t want to have to say it. The words stuck in his throat. Tony was the last person he wanted to talk to about this. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I guess we’re on a break.”

He could practically hear the sneer in Tony’s voice. “What did you do this time?”

Bruce tried not to roll his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

He knew that wasn’t completely true – it  _ was _ like that. It  _ was _ his fault, it  _ was _ what he’d said, it  _ was _ that he had wished he could have planned that trip, could have surprised her, could have paid for her to be pampered the way she deserved. It was his fault he wanted to give her the world and he couldn’t even buy her dinner.

Thankfully Tony didn’t say anything. Whatever he was stewing in was enough to keep him out of Bruce’s business – and for that, he was thankful. Maybe he and Betty weren’t meant to be forever like Tony and Pepper – but no matter when the end came, it was going to hurt. Tony had to respect that at least. 

Bruce drained the rest of his beer and knew there was one more in the fridge that he was intent on getting when Tony spoke again.

“Well, if you’re not going to Vermont...”

The drag in his voice was unmistakable and, though wary, Bruce turned his eyes back Tony’s way. Tony’s eyes were still a little stormy but his mouth was cocked into his classic mischievous grin over the rim of the bottle. Despite the fact that Tony would be loath to hear it, a lot of the same things that attracted him to Betty attracted Bruce to Tony as well. His confidence, his intellect, his penchant for a good time and the fact that he always had a plan. Just looking at him Bruce could feel that numbness thawing and he knew whatever Tony said next he would agree with.

“Let’s you and me get out of here,” Tony said, sitting up a little, drawing Bruce in like it was a wonderful conspiracy, like he’d never heard anything better. “Let’s just leave, go to Miami or something, fuck this Christmas nonsense and find some sand.”

While the idea was immediately tempting – there was nothing more depressing than breaking up with the love of your life at Christmas in the cold, snowy northeast – no matter how much he wanted to leap, Bruce was cautious by nature. Another issue that created problems for him and Betty.

“Tony, I can’t afford –”

But Tony interrupted him with a wave of his hand. 

“We’ll drive – it won’t be any more expensive for you to go with me, and I’m going whether you go or not.”

“And Pepper...?”

For a second Tony’s playful face got dark, but it passed so quickly Bruce couldn’t be sure he wasn’t projecting. 

“She decided to go home early and I know I said I was going to hang out here with you this year but man – I can’t. I’m sorry.” There was a moment of pause and then Tony’s mouth was stretching back into a grin and he finally took a sip of beer. “Miami would be better though, right?”

Bruce found his own lips twitching up as he thought about it. He’d never really been on vacation – the greatest distance he’d ever gone was Dayton to Boston and he’d only ever done it thrice. The temptation of Miami was one born entirely of TV shows and billboards but it was enough that he had an alluring mental image of white sand and palm trees and skyscrapers – like Boston but different, less serious because it was Miami – and he didn’t even know if that’s what it would be like... but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t here. Here where every corner had Betty’s face and every restaurant her smile and every room her perfume. 

So he reached inside himself, reached out for the little bit of the buzz he’d been working up, reached for the warm place Tony engendered in him – up away from the coldness beneath the water and up towards the sun – so that he could meet Tony there without guilt. 

“I’ve got like fifteen bucks man, you’re going to have to pay for my dinners,” Bruce warned him but he was smiling and the acceptance, the readiness, made Tony beam and he slammed his beer down on the coffee table with splendid finality. 

“Done!” he crowed. “Let’s go to Miami, baby!”


	2. Friday, December 21 (pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do people still do weekly chapter updates or am I just old?
> 
> If you don't want to subscribe, just know I'll be updating this on Tuesdays and Fridays. I need some of that sweet, sweet editing time.

The first hour was great. Bruce was already packed and Tony threw a bunch of shit in a duffle bag, they grabbed energy drinks and gas from the corner store, put on a cheesy road trip playlist, and hit I-90 in high spirits. That was the great thing about Tony – his positive energy was infectious and Bruce fed off of it like he was starving. And in a way – he was. He had been. It had been a long time since he’d done anything fun. Between finals and his senior thesis and the escalating issues between him and Betty, the last six months had been more like a nightmare. The last time he had been happy – truly, unabashedly happy – had been about four months into his relationship with Betty, wrapped around her body and in her sheets, halfway through a second bottle of wine and she’d just said she loved him and she was laughing, laughing... 

But even though his enthusiasm was waning with his buzz, he was still happy to sing  _ haven’t you ever heard of closing the goddamn door  _ with Tony – the lyrics angry enough but not specific enough to his situation to still be therapeutic – at least, until, Betty started texting him. 

_ Can we talk? _

At first, it was easy to ignore her. Relatively so, anyway. The feeling of being a burden, of maybe-this-really-is-better-for-her hadn’t yet faded. But Betty had never taken well to being ignored and the messages kept coming.

_ I shouldn’t have gone off like that. _

_ You know I love you. _

_ We can still go. I’ll stop by your place so we can talk about it. _

_ I don’t want to be on a break and I’m sorry it’s just this fucking semester and the stress I know you understand. _

_ Please message me back I really need to hear from you I don’t like where we left off.  _

_ Just call me. _

_ I can’t do this I’m coming over. _

Bruce could feel Tony’s eyes on him every time he looked at his phone, could practically hear Tony’s teeth grind when Bruce’s voice fell out of their duet as all of his attention was sucked into reading her texts – all of his emotion, all of his focus trapped in trying to figure out how he felt. 

But after multiple messages that she was coming over it didn’t matter how he felt, he couldn’t let her show up to an empty apartment without telling her that he was okay. Had the situation been reversed and he showed up to her place empty without hearing from her after breaking up or whatever they did, he would panic. And while Betty wasn’t exactly prone to panic, it wouldn’t have been kind under any circumstance, and he loved her. He didn’t want her to worry.

“You are not going to call her.”

Bruce rolled his eyes as his finger hovered over her number but Tony reached over and shoved him, bumping his hand away. 

“What the fuck?” Bruce sputtered, more shocked than angry. 

“You are  _ not _ calling her,” Tony repeated through barred teeth, his eyes back on the road, his fingers clenched so hard on the steering wheel his knuckles were white under the high-mast lighting. 

“She’s coming to the apartment, I’m going to call her,” Bruce confirmed, irritation rising as he unlocked his phone again.

“ _ Goddamn _ that bitch,” Tony growled and Bruce’s eyes went wide. He knew Tony was never Betty’s biggest fan but that was completely unnecessary. 

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t you see she’s just trying to control you?” Tony said. “Going  _ to the apartment _ ? She cancelled a fucking trip on you, told you you were on a break, but she just can’t let it go, she has to go by the apartment and make sure you’re just as fucked up as she wants.”

Bruce was speechless. That wasn’t it at all. Sure she was a perfectionist and sure she was used to having things her way but she could feel bad too. She could feel uncertain, she could be vulnerable, she wasn’t some manipulative bitch feeding off of him for her own selfish gain. 

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh fuck me,” Tony sneered, the disbelief in his voice obvious. “It’s  _ not _ ? She’s constantly nagging you, constantly picking at you, nothing is ever good enough for her, god fucking forbid you wear jeans to wine and cheese night or let your hair get too long or – I don’t know – ask for chopsticks with your Thai food.”

“You don’t understand because you’re one of them,” Bruce muttered, his chest feeling tight, knowing that he could never explain it to Tony, that Tony could never understand.

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t want to, it was just... It was just like it was for Betty. Tony  _ belonged  _ here. He was rich and popular and smart and well-liked. Bruce was a fucking imposter and Tony didn’t understand. People like Tony and Betty? They were different, they lived in a different world. She couldn’t be blamed, her expectations were high and Bruce was just a poor kid on a poor kid’s scholarship barely getting by and it was his fault. It was his fault. 

“One of who? Betty? Come on, I don’t do that shit to you. If I did you damn well better tell me.”

“You’re rich!” Bruce shouted in frustration, at Tony, at Betty, at the whole fucking thing. “You don’t understand because  _ you’re rich _ ! You can give Pepper anything you want, you can go anywhere or – or do  _ anything _ you want and I can’t do that.”

“So it’s okay for her to treat you like shit?” Tony shot back and Bruce felt it – felt it like the dam burst and all that cold water flooded rapidly through his veins and he was  _ angry _ – really fucking  _ angry _ .

It wasn’t even about Betty any more. Right then, it was about Tony – Tony and his fucking bullshit, like he knew more than Bruce and he didn’t, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t  _ ever _ know this – and it was easier to be mad at him then it was to feel shitty about Betty and he latched on to that, wanting it to be easier. 

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, regretting everything about his decision to come with Tony, wishing he was back at the apartment, waiting there to greet Betty, make up with her, fall asleep in her arms, knowing everything was okay – and he wondered if that was even still a possibility. 

He stared at his phone, at the little icon of Betty in that cute knit hat and scarf with snowflakes clinging to her hair and shoulders and all he wanted to do was hear her voice. 

“Understand what? That you’re in love with someone who can never accept you for who you actually are?” 

Bruce ignored him. “I’m going to call her,” he said with finality and as his finger hit the call button Tony snatched his phone from his hand and threw it out the window.

Now for a lot of reasons, that was a bad idea – not least of which being that Bruce didn’t have the money to replace it. But Bruce also had a violent streak he tried to keep buried down inside him, some shitty defect in his DNA thanks to his dad, and that kind of blatant disrespect was more than he could take.

“Pull the car over!” he demanded – but Tony just sped up. 

“I’m not letting you call her,” he replied, far more calmly than Bruce could even fathom in his rage. 

“Pull it over! Pull the  _ fucking car _ over!” He punctuated his sentence with his fist in the glovebox but Tony remained unmoved.

“And you’re going to walk back to Boston?”

Bruce muttered expletives as he fought for control of the door lock from Tony, finally managing to fling it open to a shocking burst of cold air that he didn’t allow to faze him in the least. Tony however was forced to pull over when it became pretty obvious Bruce would literally jump from the car and as soon as they were going slow enough that Bruce didn’t think he’d suffer any broken bones he was out and almost falling in the salty slush along the shoulder.

He didn’t really expect Tony to follow – hell, he wasn’t really expecting much of anything. There was no plan, no forethought, only blind rage and he just needed to get out of there, get somewhere far away from where he was. 

But Tony did follow and he was saying something and Bruce couldn’t hear it over the cars passing by and the deafening rush of blood in his ears and so he was caught by surprise when Tony finally grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to turn around. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” 

The words came out fuzzy and Bruce was so angry he could hardly hear them even though Tony was shouting in his face and all he wanted to do was take a swing. All Tony had to do was say the right fucking thing and he was going to – 

“It’s better that it’s over,” he continued and Bruce was breathing so hard and he could feel his nails digging into his palms and he couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Let it fucking  _ go _ , she’s a petty bitch and she didn’t ever love you she only loved the idea of –”

“Shut UP!” Bruce demanded, fists clenched, heart pounding, knowing he wouldn’t be restraining himself as hard as he was if he didn’t care about Tony so much.

“– the idea of you or she’d let all that bullshit go! Christ Bruce – can’t you see that she doesn’t  _ deserve _ you?” 

And that was it. The idea that Betty – fucking beautiful, smart, confident, wonderful Betty – that Betty didn’t deserve  _ him _ ? It was – it was  _ insane _ . It was absolutely crazy and it pushed Bruce right off the fucking edge and the words he’d been holding back since Tony accused Betty of being controlling came tumbling out. 

“We all can’t have real,  _ adult _ problems like you and Pepper!” 

He knew it was a shitty thing to say and he knew Tony was going to react badly but  _ everything _ Tony had said had hurt and it was the only thing he could think of to say to get him to just shut the fuck up for a minute before Bruce punched him in the face.

And it worked because Tony was stunned. Bruce could see it in the way his mouth hung open, the way he stepped back, just a little – uncertain. But Tony wasn’t like Bruce and it didn’t take him so long to process, so long to react, and his teeth clicked shut and before Bruce knew what hit him, Tony threw the first punch.

Their ‘fight’ was an embarrassing struggle that was destined from the beginning to burn out early but there was no avoiding it – they were both too emotionally compromised. He could taste blood in his mouth where his teeth cut his lips but Tony never got another hit in. Bruce got a pretty good hit at Tony’s ribs, winding him a little. Tony had his fingers in Bruce’s hair, trying to drag him away, trying to knee him in the stomach, in the crotch, somewhere – but Bruce was pushing him back with each hit to his stomach and chest despite the way his feet slipped in the slush on the road. Still, Bruce was weakening with each hit until he finally went limp and pulled away, breathing hard, and Tony stepped back as well, wary and exhausted. 

Bruce knew that despite Tony’s penchant for talk, he wasn’t going to say the first word here, and Bruce ran his hands down his face, feeling the bitter air prick at his sweaty skin and feeling defeated. 

“Can we just go home?” 

The hopelessness in his voice seemed to echo though he’d barely raised his voice at all, wasn’t even sure Tony heard him – but Tony shook his head. 

“I’m not going back.”

Bruce blinked, let his hands fall from his face. “What?”

“I can get you a Lyft or something but I’m not going back,” Tony repeated. 

“Like... for break?” 

“Like for _ ever _ !” Tony raised his voice but it was clear he wasn’t angry – in fact, Bruce wasn’t sure but he suddenly thought Tony might start to cry. 

“What...?” Bruce replied stupidly but he truly couldn’t comprehend it. They were a semester from graduating MIT, what the hell could have happened that would make Tony want to drop out?

“We’re over,” Tony said, mouth hard, hardly opening it as he spit the words out, not even looking at Bruce as he said them. “Pepper and I – she broke up with me. And I’m not going back.”

Bruce stood there dumbfounded as Tony turned and made his way back to the car. He’d always – he’d always thought they were going to get married, have kids when they were actually ready to, spend the rest of their lives together and die of old age in rocking chairs on some million dollar porch surrounded by meticulously pruned roses or some shit and it was even harder for him to comprehend than the idea that he and Betty might really be over this time. 

Finally he forced his numb feet forward and despite himself he sat down in the passenger seat. Truthfully... he  _ wanted _ to go back, patch things up with Betty, make it work, spend a night or two with her before she went home for Christmas, even if it was just at her apartment and not at some fancy B&B. But Tony? He’d never seen Tony look so broken and he wasn’t sure he wanted to just leave him like that. Maybe his original intention on joining Tony wasn’t really a bad one – maybe it would be better to spend a week away anyway, give him some time to process how he felt about Betty, where they were going as a couple, whether they were truly meant to be or not. 

When he looked over at Tony he realized he was crying. Bruce wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Tony cry before. The fluorescent light reflected off his eyes as he stared forward, tears running down his cheeks, lower lip pinned between his teeth as he clearly tried to control it until he couldn’t any more and then he let out a sob and lay his forehead on the steering wheel. 

“She told me she couldn’t stand the way I looked at her anymore.”

Bruce felt those strained words more keenly in his gut than the punch Tony had tried to land on him. He had no idea what to say but he reached out and gripped Tony’s shoulder, squeezed it tight, and said the only thing he could think of. 

“I’ll come with you.”

For a moment Bruce wasn’t sure Tony heard him, but then he drug his sleeve across his eyes and sat up a little bit, pretending like he wasn’t still sniffling. 

“Yeah?” 

The vulnerable look in Tony’s eyes made Bruce forgive him, even if he was still hurt over what Tony had said. Everyone knew Tony had a mouth, it was no surprise he used it. Bruce just wished he’d told him what had really happened before they’d gotten in the car. 

“Yeah – if you’ll text Betty for me and just let her know I’m okay.”

Tony sighed but he picked up his phone and pulled up her number. 

“I’ll buy you a new one, you know,” he said, his brown eyes soft and sorry and red from crying. 

Bruce just buckled his seatbelt and leaned back in the seat. 

“I know.”

**

There was no more singing. Bruce zoned out and dozed off for a few hours while Tony drove. It was easier to sleep than to think about whether this trip really was the right thing, whether Tony wasn’t right about Betty to some degree, whether they had a future or even if they  _ should _ have a future.

But even Tony eventually burned out and at two, outside New York and making good time to Philly, he pulled over at a gas station and asked for a switch. 

Truthfully, Bruce wasn’t looking forward to the next few dark hours where he would be alone with nothing but his thoughts while Tony passed out, but he got the biggest coffee he could at the gas station and some snacks and settled into the driver’s seat with trepidation. 

Tony had pillowed his jacket up under his head against the window, clearly exhausted. His eyes were closed and he hardly moved but his lips.

“It’s 95 the whole way, so there’s nothing to worry about. Just keep going.”

Bruce hummed to let him know he heard as he sipped his coffee. 

“You can change the playlist on my phone if you want,” he continued. 

Bruce had thought that was it, he was quiet for several minutes, but then Tony added, “you can call Betty if you want. Guess it’s pretty late but – you know.”

His teeth clenched and he didn’t say anything. Just hearing Tony say her name, it was like everything Tony said came back to him with a painful sear in his chest.  _ It’s better that it’s over, she’s a petty bitch, she doesn’t love you, she doesn’t deserve you...  _ It wasn’t the most fortuitous beginning to his stretch behind the wheel.

Bruce set the coffee down and wrung the steering wheel in his hands. He could feel it again, building – his anger. He knew Tony couldn’t understand and he didn’t blame him for that, really, it wasn’t his fault. And he wasn’t even mad at Tony for saying it, not really, not if that’s what he really thought. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t like that, not the way Tony saw it, but if he really thought he were looking out for him then shouldn’t he say it? If they were really friends?

And truthfully, none of that bothered him as much as the fact that he’d never said it before, that he smiled to her face, invited her to parties and date nights, pretended to be her friend. It was – fuck. It was so deceitful. What was he supposed to believe?

“I never realized you hated her so much,” he muttered, not really expecting Tony to hear him at this point. Fifteen minutes had passed and his breathing had evened out and he hadn’t moved an inch.

“I don’t,” came the soft reply, just a breath on his lips and Bruce adjusted the volume of the radio to hear him. “Not really. I just... I was being a dick and I’m sorry. Really. It’s not her fault anyway.”

Bruce glanced his way as he spoke, the words a little slurred, his brow furrowed in distress though his eyes were still shut. 

Instantly, Bruce felt better with the admission. Tony could definitely be a dick but he usually knew it, let it on, let you in on the joke. This had been different, this was way more painful, and Bruce couldn’t be sure how much he had meant.

“What’s not her fault?” he asked, genuinely curious now, truly wanting Tony’s opinion when it wasn’t wrapped in ten tons of shit and hurled at him with the speed of an F-15.

Tony’s eyes cracked open a bit, gauging him as he reached into a bag of chips and Bruce pinned him with a look he was sure Tony didn’t really see. 

“I’m fine – I’m not mad. I just want to know what you mean.”

Tony sighed and closed his eyes again, reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose. Bruce wasn’t entirely sure he was going to get an answer, given how tired Tony was, but eventually he started, slowly, like he’d really thought about it this time. 

“Betty’s a perfectionist – it’s just who she is,” he said, which was true, Bruce knew it, everyone knew it. “She can’t help it. She wants everything in her life to be just how she wants it.” 

It was clear there was more to that that Tony didn’t want to say and after it became obvious he wasn’t going to, Bruce prompted him again. 

“...and?”

“And?” Tony asked, burying his face a little deeper in the jacket pressed up against the window. “Fuck, Bruce – you’re the kind of guy who feels like you can never live up. And it doesn’t matter what you do or how much she wants to appreciate it, she’s never going to think it’s good enough, and every time it’s gonna kill you.”

For a few minutes Bruce didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure he could. He was stunned. It was so... so fucking obvious? Tony had spelled it out so easily and all he could do was think back to every time... 

Every time he brought her flowers and she smiled and kissed him and didn’t look at them again. 

The way she always wore the bracelet he’d gotten her for their first anniversary, but never to parties or anywhere nice. 

The look in her eyes when he apologized, the look that always made him feel small, feel like this time it was over, that nothing he said was ever going to be enough, until he couldn’t understand why she was with him at all, why she didn’t finally say no, it’s not enough Bruce – it’s never going to be enough. 

It was like... He just figured they were the couple in the sitcom that was always on the verge of breaking up but never actually would. His romantic overtures and her long-suffering but amused acceptance would woo the audience into rooting for them anyway. That she knew that too. That that was why it was enough. They were meant to be.

So maybe it really  _ was _ better this way. Maybe it was better that he’d finally forced her to say what everyone was really thinking when the credits rolled.

“It’s not your fault, y’know,” Tony offered after a few minutes and Bruce swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting in his sinuses, the lump in his throat, even as the tears rolled down his face. 

“But –”

“It’s not hers either,” he continued. “I know – I know I said some shit but she does love you, you can see it in the way she looks at you, and she tries to let it go, but fuck – you’ve met her dad, right?”

The question kind of derailed Bruce and he stopped and tried to parse together what her dad had to do with anything.

“General Ross or whatever?” Tony continued and Bruce could practically feel the amusement and horror Tony felt with every word. “Just sitting in a room with him for two minutes by myself was like torture. Can you imagine growing up with that?” 

Honestly, the only person on earth that could make Bruce feel small faster than Betty was her father. The man was a decorated naval commander who had no time in his life for even a hint of bullshit. Every word out of your mouth was scrutinized to the point where even the truth sounded like a lie and Bruce knew in no way would he  _ ever _ be seen as good enough for his daughter – and yet Betty had loved him anyway. Had loved both of them, in spite of their large number of differences, and Bruce always tried to comfort himself with that. That had never really made their few shared dinners together any less horrible, though.

“Literally this man has said three things to me in his entire life and one of them was not to slouch.”

Bruce couldn’t help it, he laughed, and it was ugly, because he was crying, but it also felt a little good, a little okay. 

“Like I shit you not,” Tony continued, his eyes half-open and watching Bruce now, “he literally said – and God only knows why I can remember this, maybe because the man looks like he could do ten rounds in a ring without breaking a sweat – ‘son, if your father saw you dressed like that he would lose ten years – don’t slouch and make it worse.’ I mean – what the fuck? Dressed like – what? Not in full military regalia?”

Bruce was still sniffling but he was also laughing outright imagining poor Tony – who had only stopped by to drop Bruce off so they could go to dinner – not only being forced into this awkward conversation with Betty’s dad, but managing not to say anything about it for almost a year out of respect for their relationship.

“You know his friends legitimately call him ‘Thunderbolt?’”

Tony made a strangled sound and he closed his eyes again, pressing his forehead into the window and asking in muffled disbelief, “he has  _ friends _ ?”

Bruce didn’t have a response, he just let himself laugh and be content for a minute, let Tony finally go to sleep. 

Maybe Tony didn’t see it as so far off from what it really was and maybe... maybe Tony was right. Maybe it was really just that they were too incompatible, that love couldn’t hold two people together no matter how much they wanted it too. Some of that shit you see in movies where the couple manages to change enough to make a happy ending anyway – but then what? How many happy endings had he and Betty shared only to end up right back in the same position again a few weeks later?

He picked up the coffee, took another sip, watched the shadows on the highway fly by as the traffic increased into Philly. This wasn’t a bad idea. He needed some space. It was going to take him a while to figure this out. 

“Thanks,” Bruce mumbled, not really caring whether Tony heard or not, but needing to say it.

“Mmhmm,” Tony hummed back. 


	3. Saturday, December 22

The McDonald’s they stopped at in Richmond had just opened at six am and they had to wait longer than usual for their McMuffins and hashbrowns. Bruce had consumed so much caffeine and slept so little over the past eight hours that he felt more nauseous than anything and yawned into his coffee as he stared down at the laminate table and unwrapped breakfast sandwich with mild disgust. 

Tony managed to wolf his down somehow and Bruce was glad he was going to take over driving for a while. Somehow he seemed... happy? At the very least he looked a lot more positive than Bruce felt but then he also got a good few hours of sleep while Bruce drove. 

He was scrolling through his phone, looking at the map, when the first tell-tale bells of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” started on the piped in radio and then Bruce really did want to puke.

“How long do we have left?”

Bruce had to say something before the chorus kicked in and he was going to be forced to confront his own feelings about who he wished he was with for Christmas. 

“Well,” Tony paused to swallow a mouthful of sandwich, “we’ll have a real bed tonight.”

Bruce picked up his McMuffin and stared at it bleakly. “That sounds promising.”

“Thirteen hours.”

He couldn’t hide the face he made as he chewed slowly through his first bite, swallowing uncertainly. “Why did I agree to this again?” 

“Because you love me,” Tony grinned with a mouth full of food and Bruce set down his muffin, revolted.

While it was true that he did like Tony a lot, it was more true that he came because Betty didn’t love him – or more accurately, in Tony’s words, couldn’t. It was more true that he came because he had nowhere else to be as he was broke and couldn’t afford to go home and he didn’t want to be alone on Christmas. It was more true that Tony needed him to come. It was more true that he was burned out and he didn’t know what to do and he didn’t want to have to decide he just wanted to continue on the path he chose and get his degree and get a job and have a little bit of money for once and have it be easy.

“Oh don’t be like that baby,” Tony mocked, slamming back some coffee like he was manic. “Miami is wonderful. It’s not like Boston – the ocean is such a gorgeous blue. And warm. And the sand stretches on as far as you can see in both directions and there are pools  _ everywhere _ and we’ll get drinks and chill in some cabana and it’s going to be  _ great _ .”

Bruce was still skeptical but he picked back up his food with cautious optimism. 

“This might already be the furthest south I’ve ever been,” Bruce admitted, considering it. “We went to Kentucky once to see my aunt but I think it was right over the border... Lexington, I think.”

“See? Expand your horizons a bit,” Tony encouraged and Bruce nodded, stomach settling a bit as he took another bite. 

He actually was excited about it – if he hadn’t been he wouldn’t have gotten in the car in the first place. It was just hard to feel it given...  _ everything _ else. But he figured Tony understood that, he just needed to sell it, needed Bruce to be excited so that he could hold his own head above water and not get sucked into that cold place too.

“Nah, it’ll be good,” Bruce agreed, feeling better as he ate. “I’m just exhausted.”

“You sleep,” Tony said, nodding his head, looking contrite. “And then at the next stop maybe we’ll be able to find a Target or something and get you a phone. It – I really feel shitty about that. It must be killing you not to have one.”

Bruce had been trying not to let it get to him, knowing that if Tony had been in his right mind he wouldn’t have done it, so he just shrugged. “I figure Betty hasn’t messaged you about me or you’d have said something.”

Tony kind of frowned. “Sorry – she hasn’t. I told her, you know, you forgot your phone and we were going to Miami and you’d let her know when you got there. So maybe...?”

Although he’d been doing well the idea that Betty hadn’t tried to get in touch with him at all still made him feel like shit. Not that... She was probably still asleep anyway – and what was she going to say? But maybe it was better this way. Regardless of all of that, if he’d had a phone he would’ve texted her as soon as the car stopped, let her know they were in Richmond and that he missed her and he was thinking of her and he was sorry and he hoped she slept okay and he would call her in a few hours and – 

Maybe it was better this way. 

“We can wait until we get to Miami,” Bruce mumbled, sure he wasn’t going to finish the last few bites as he crumpled the greasy paper over it and picked up his coffee. Tony looked confused so he clarified. “To get a new phone.”

“Are you sure?” he asked quickly, seeming genuinely concerned. “I really don’t mind and it was my –”

“I’m sure,” Bruce cut him off. “All that would happen is I would start crawling back to her and – I don’t know. Maybe she’s better off without me.”

Tony’s mouth pulled tight as he watched Bruce talk and Bruce didn’t like the look so he looked away, out the window and into the slowly rising light and dirty melting hills of snow surrounding the parking lot. But he didn’t argue, didn’t try to tell Bruce he was better than her or that she deserved this or any of what he’d said the night before... so maybe he understood. 

“I want to text Pepper too,” he said finally, quietly, more sober than he’d been since they stopped. 

“I’m sure you could,” Bruce offered but Tony shook his head. 

“She doesn’t want me to.”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to frown. It was hard to see Tony down – in the face of any adversity he was always the one working out the solution as if the problem didn’t even exist, always the one who pushed through with an unnatural amount of energy when everyone else was ready to give up, always the one ready to step in and fix things for someone else. But when it came to himself...? Apparently he had nothing. 

“Surely that’s not –” Bruce tried, knowing he was not the kind of person who could reciprocate that for him.

“She doesn’t,” Tony interjected. “She told me she doesn’t, that she’d leave my things at our place with my key while I was gone so that she didn’t have to see me.”

“Shit,” Bruce muttered and Tony coughed out a sarcastic laugh and finished off his coffee. 

“Yeah. It’s over.”

And Bruce wanted to say so many things he shouldn’t – that he always thought they were forever, that it would be okay, that maybe this was better, that maybe her mind would change over the break, that he was sorry it had to go down like that, that even if she’d had the baby it might still have turned out like this...

But he didn’t. Instead he said the only thing he could think of that might comfort him, focus him. 

“Well – she’s really going to miss out on Miami.”

And it was a dumb thing to say because they both knew she didn’t want to be down here with them any more than they wanted to be going, really, not in a world where they both still had their girls, a world they would have both preferred. But it got a decent grin out of Tony and he nodded his head, standing and holding his hand out for the keys. 

“And she  _ knows _ I look damn good in a Speedo too.”

Bruce laughed. “You’d look like a nerd in a Speedo.”

He snatched the keys, laughing too. “A damn good looking nerd in a Speedo.”

**

They made it past Raleigh/Durham and stopped outside Fayetteville for snacks and sodas around nine thirty. Bruce was in a better mood after getting some more sleep and though Tony insisted he was still fine to drive, Bruce took over anyway. For an hour they sang along easily to the first act of  _ Hamilton _ , though Tony quickly turned it off after “Non-Stop” and proceeded to stare out the window, watching the boring scenery roll by.

“Is there a reason you picked Miami?” Bruce asked after a while as his mood started to drop again when his thoughts grew too obtrusive. 

“Huh?” Tony asked, shaking his head as he turned to look at Bruce, drug out of wherever he had gone. 

“Miami,” Bruce repeated. “You’ve been there before?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Tony murmured, smiling in this little way, like he was remembering something nice. “My dad had property down there when he was doing a lot of business in the area, like when I was five or six? And when my dad wasn’t there my mom would fly us down – her and me and Nanny Tea – and we would hang out on the beach all morning and lay on the carpet in the air conditioned condo in the afternoon and for dinner mom would order all this wonderful food from local restaurants...”

Tony paused for a minute, knee deep in memories of lobster and truffle pizza, or so Bruce assumed, and then he laughed. 

“I remember my dad asking me one time what I wanted to do with my life – because a seven year old definitely knows shit like that – and I told him I wanted to build sandcastles professionally. He  _ loved _ that.”

Bruce had never met Tony’s dad – he’d never met his mother either – but the assorted bits and pieces he picked up made him sound something like a mix between Betty’s dad and his own. Not a combination that yielded a kind, patient, loving father. Maybe Bruce would have been less inclined to believe Tony’s probably biased reporting, but he knew first hand what it was like to have an abusive parent, and the way Tony normally avoided talking about him at all was pretty telling.

“We watched them one summer doing a big contest and it was amazing to me. After that we spent a whole day on one epic sandcastle – with a bailey and curtain walls and bastions and a moat. I’m sure it didn’t look that great to anyone else, but to me? It was perfect. I still remember that day...”

Tony trailed off and stared back out the window a minute, but then his face fell into a frown and he grumbled, “then dad sold the condo on the beach and bought one in the city and we stopped going.”

“Dick move,” Bruce commiserated and Tony nodded.

“That’s kind of his thing.”

“You know, I had never even seen the ocean before I moved to Boston,” Bruce offered after a minute and Tony looked over at him, surprised. 

“You never told me that.”

Bruce just kind of shrugged, instantly regretting saying that as he remembered  _ why _ he never told anyone at MIT that.

“So when we took you out to Marblehead – that was the first time you’d been to a beach?”

“Well, not exactly,” Bruce admitted. “We went to Lake Erie once when I was a kid... but it didn’t go well.”

Tony kind of laughed and prodded Bruce to keep going. “Not well how?”

Bruce sighed and wrung the steering wheel. “It was like a two hour drive, maybe more. And the whole time my dad kept going on about the undertow and how you can get pulled under the water without even realizing it and you can’t fight it or you’ll drown and on and on – and I was a pretty cautious and sensitive kid and my dad scared the shit out of me. He’d just gotten out of a brief stint in jail for beating up someone other than my mom for once and this trip was some kind of apology to her, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered. 

He had been frank with Tony a few times about his father – said he’d been in and out of jail, had been abusive, and that he didn’t really want to talk about it – but still. Even if Tony’s dad was a dick, he was rich. It was different. He wasn’t starting bar fights and going to jail. They lived in two different worlds. He hated feeling like what he was saying was going to make Tony think he was white trash but... it was also kind of too late. He was. And whether he tried to hide that at MIT or not, the truth was still there. It was the apparently irreconcilable gap between him and Betty.

“Well of course I was fucking terrified when we got there and refused to get in the water,” Bruce continued, the memory spilling out of his mouth even though he really just wanted to stop. “It wasn’t a big deal, probably my mom could’ve coaxed me if she’d been given a chance, but he just lost it –” 

_ Thought you gave me a boy but he’s just a little bitch. _

“– called me names –”

_ Bet his pussy is tighter than yours. _

Bruce swallowed hard, tried to keep the memory of his father’s angry voice from overwhelming him. It had been years since he’d thought of this, years since he let his dad get so under his skin. The last thing he wanted was to give in to that asshole now. 

_ I shouldn’t even have come back. _

“– and he took the car and left my mom and I there with no money for hours.”

“Fuck, Bruce,” Tony was obviously speechless as Bruce trailed off and so he tried to brush it away to ease Tony’s discomfort.

“Obviously he came back,” Bruce offered but Tony kinda laughed like he was incredulous.

“Yeah but jeez, I mean I have some shitty dad stories, but damn – I can see why you didn’t tell us that.”

Bruce laughed for real then, grinning over at Tony. “I did pretty good acting like I wasn’t scared shitless, huh?”

“You were not scared,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. 

“I didn’t go in the water, did I?” Bruce asked, a little chagrined, as Tony’s eyes blanked, clearly thinking back to that day. “And I’ve never agreed to go to any of your sailing shit.”

Tony seemed shocked when he realized the truth of it and he slapped Bruce’s arm playfully. “You’re totally going in the ocean with me. We’re gonna pop your ocean cherry. This is happening. You haven’t lived nearly four years in Boston not to have been in the ocean.”

Bruce grimaced at the metaphor but meekly agreed – “yeah, yeah, I guess it’s time.”

“The ocean in Miami isn’t as intimidating as it is in Boston, either,” Tony comforted. “In Miami it’s warm and it’s blue and it’s bright and the sand goes on for miles – it’s gorgeous. And I know what a riptide looks like and I know a little bit more about water safety than your old man.”

Strangely, that was actually comforting, despite the fact that there was a haze of dread over the whole idea of it. He trusted Tony – a lot more than he ever trusted his dad – and he knew Tony was experienced... and he sure as hell wouldn’t mind giving a big middle finger to that memory. 

“But I’m not going to force you either,” Tony added. “I just think you should try it, at least once.”

Bruce gave him a genuine smile, then asked – “Isn’t that your motto or something?”

Tony shot back a wolfish grin. “I’ll try anything once – twice if I like it,” he added a little enticing twitch of his eyebrows for affect and Bruce laughed though he felt guarded. 

But as he turned back to the road, he thought, ‘I’ve let you drag me this far...’

**

Bruce was fairly well over the whole trip by the time they stopped for lunch outside Savannah and even asked Tony if they could stop short of Miami. But Tony had dug his heels in and wouldn’t hear it, pushing on with stubborn resolve. Not that Bruce expected any less, but he had to try. His whole head felt like cotton had been stuffed inside and he was pretty sure if he had one more energy drink he’d start getting heart palpitations so the best he could do was zone the fuck out while Tony drove. 

At least he was no longer able to think. 

They finally made Miami a little after nine and Bruce couldn’t even be impressed. His head was glued to the window, staring out at the city as they passed the beginning of skyscrapers to a glut of darkness over the bridge – lights growing larger across the way, the gps reading out unfamiliar names as they were dropped back into what seemed like a city. Not like Boston, but full of hotels and businesses. 

By the time they finally found the one Tony wanted Bruce didn’t care if he had to sleep in the lobby, he needed actual horizontal sleep. He’d definitely pulled all-nighters before, but not like this – he always knew when those would start and when they would end. But Bruce was so out of it by the time they walked through the door that he was only vaguely aware of things that most definitely would have bothered him had he been more cognizant – namely the large number of people dressed in club attire moving through the lobby and the high class feel of the lobby itself. As it was, however, he kept his eyes trained on Tony’s back and followed him to the desk with no other goal in mind than crawling into a bed.

“Well you two are in luck,” the receptionist announced cheerily after Tony had given him their information. “We had a cancellation a few hours ago that will cover you until Wednesday though we  _ may _ have to move you to another room...” He clicked around a few more times and then grinned. “Actually, I was able to move some things around so you’ll be good to go – or stay – for the whole week!” He laughed at his own joke and Bruce willed himself not to roll his eyes. 

As he set up the key card he started into the typical spiel. “Our Spectacular Ocean View Room has a private balcony, nine foot ceilings, and a king-sized Signature W bed for you and your boyfriend.” He flashed them a knowing look but before he could get another word out, Tony interrupted him. 

“Whoa – he’s not my boyfriend.”

Bruce just blinked slowly, completely overwhelmed by the sudden change of topic as the receptionist issued an apology. 

“You don’t have any rooms with two beds?”

Slowly a grin spread across Bruce’s face. Tony – his  _ boyfriend _ ? The whole idea of it was completely ridiculous. 

“My father is Howard Stark – of Starktech Pharmaceuticals. We have a huge corporate contract with Starwood. There’s nothing you can do?”

Bruce started laughing as the receptionist went back to the computer for a minute and Tony glared back at him. His boyfriend. Filthy rich, disgustingly dashing, incorrigible lady’s man, head over heels in love with Pepper –  _ that _ Tony?  _ His _ boyfriend?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I would love to offer you a two hundred dollar credit to your room and a complimentary package at our Bliss spa but unfortunately we are completely booked. This is our busiest time of year. If it hadn’t been for that cancellation, we wouldn’t have a room at all.”

“One minute,” Tony sighed, turning back towards Bruce with frustration all over his face. “Is that okay or do you want to try somewhere else?”

Bruce instantly sobered at the prospect of having to drag his bag all the way back to the parking deck and lower himself in the car for the umpteenth time in the past twenty-four hours. He quickly shook his head. 

“No – it’s fine, it’s whatever.”

Tony turned back to the receptionist and finalized the transaction with clear irritation, taking the key with a perfunctory “thank you” before leading Bruce to the elevator.

Bruce knew without studying the hotel that it was by far the nicest one he’d ever been in and it only became more obvious when he walked into the room. He remembered the one time his mom got up the courage to leave, how they stayed a few days in a shitty Knights Inn in Moraine that couldn’t have been more than fifty dollars a day, because she had no money, and how she cried when they walked in though Bruce thought it was quite possibly the best place he’d ever been – a bed right beside his mom? Their own TV in the room? There was a pool outside and real art on the walls and free rolls in the morning and it was just him and his mom and what could be better than that? It was the first time he had ever stayed in a hotel, one of the only times, and though in his childish mind nothing could top that – this sure as hell came close. 

The bathroom was right at the entryway and Bruce peered through the open door. It was tiled in marble with dual sinks and an impressive open shower. He had never seen a king bed before and it seemed huge to him – perfect, crisp, and white – the decor surrounding it modern and simple as Tony flipped a light so that they could see better. The room had a divider into a living area with a couch and a large flat screen TV – two TVs, one for the bed and one for the couch just seemed excessive but nonetheless they were there. And beyond that the balcony the receptionist spoke of but Bruce just dropped his bag by the edge of the couch, turning to Tony. 

“I would be fine sleeping on the couch –”

But Tony cut him off. “Oh come on, it’s not a big deal, this bed is huge” he argued, dropping his bag at the end of the bed. “Rhodey and I have shared a bed hundreds of times.”

Bruce pinned him with a look of disbelief on what had to be a factually inaccurate statement. “ _ Hundreds _ of times?”

Tony sighed in aggravation. “Okay like five or ten times, but still. Nothing happened.”

Now Bruce really did roll his eyes. Everyone knew Tony was bi but Bruce wasn’t  _ that _ immature. “I don’t think anything is going to  _ happen _ , it’s just, you paid for this room, and if you’d be more comfortable –”

“It’s fine,” Tony interrupted again. “Now come on.”

Bruce groaned as Tony breezed past him to the balcony and he followed reluctantly, moon-eyeing the bed he so desperately wanted to crawl into before turning to meet Tony outside.

There were two lounge chairs but Tony bypassed them to hang over the edge of the balcony, staring at the grandeur of it. They were on the seventeenth floor and it was a cool night and there was a gentle breeze blowing, making Bruce shiver as it tossed Tony’s road-trip greased hair to one side, the lights down the beach and the reflection of the water making him seem somehow older, wiser, and even more handsome than he already was. Bruce was pretty sure he didn’t even want to look at the haggard sack of shit he had become on that car ride in a mirror – it didn’t seem fair. Still, he stepped up to the edge and looked out over the water, breathing in the salt and the sand and feeling – all things considered – pretty okay. 

“We’re here,” Tony murmured, an uncontainable grin on his face, and while it wasn’t quite contagious, in that moment Bruce kinda felt it too.


	4. Sunday, December 23

Blissfully they slept through anything resembling the morning and when Bruce awoke it was to the smell of coffee Tony had started probably only minutes earlier. He grinned over at Bruce from the kitchenette area, looking haggard still but having showered and Bruce just sunk back into the pillow, trying to ignore how badly he had to pee. 

“Don’t worry – you stayed on your side last night,” he teased and Bruce responded with a muffled sound that wasn’t even really a word, not sure he was going to be able to drag himself out of bed at all today, even though the clock read just past noon.

“I was thinking we could go find an IHOP and a Target or something, get some lunch and a new phone?”

There came another muffled sound from Bruce – but that is exactly what they ended up doing. Except that it wasn’t an IHOP, it was a Denny’s, but Bruce didn’t really care, he was starving and it was decent, and he didn’t really care about the phone either but Tony insisted on getting him a really nice new one and paying for it outright, claiming it was a Christmas gift. Bruce was irritated but eventually relented because it was Tony and he was stubborn as fuck and he had the money and he clearly did feel pretty shitty about it. He also bought him two pairs of swim trunks and a couple t-shirts since in their glee to leave Bruce totally forgot he had packed his bag for a B&B in Vermont and not a beach suite in Miami – but to his amusement and relief Tony picked out shirts he liked and said he had every intention of taking them back. 

Bruce set up his phone on the fifteen minute drive back to the hotel, more than a little disappointed to see that Betty hadn’t attempted to contact him. When they got back to the room he sent her a text asking how she was doing before resetting up Instagram and Facebook to see if she’d posted anything. Alongside Pietro’s various airport updates, Steve’s gratuitous high school bro-bonding photos, and the other antics of their friends, Tony posted several ridiculous pictures of him sleeping at various points on the trip, which Bruce supposed he should’ve expected, then a picture of the ocean this morning before they left for lunch. Betty posted one of her making it home – her arm wrapped around her father’s neck, smiling, #daddysgirl – and one of the big breakfast her mom made for her and the neighbors – mimosas and belgian waffles and fruit and eggs and bacon, everything. Pepper hadn’t posted anything at all. Bruce frowned from the bed as he looked over at Tony, watching TV on the couch, not having mentioned her at all today – the surest sign it was too painful for him to deal with, if he couldn’t even talk about it. 

He was just about to suggest they do something to get Tony’s mind off of it, even if it was just walk the beach, because he knew it had to be eating at him, when Tony got a call and groaned when he looked at the caller ID.

“Hey,” Tony answered as Bruce pretended to be disinterested, staring down at the new phone as he redownloaded his banking app and set up his university email.

“Yeah, I’m in Miami.”

Long pause. 

“I wasn’t planning on going, no.”

Shorter pause. 

“But I’m here, yes, and it’s a W and I used the corporate account so it was practically free anyway.”

Very short pause. 

“Oh come on, like you’ve never used the corporate account for ‘leisure’ – it’s a fucking mental health trip anyway.” Silence. Then – “And yeah I absolutely will fucking curse. Because you don’t get to come at me like that, you don’t know what – no. You know what? No – just put mom on. I can’t talk to you like this.”

Then there was a very long pause where Tony refused to say anything. Bruce saw him move the phone away from his face for a minute out of the corner of his eye as he sniffled. 

“Hi mom,” he said eventually, his voice coming out more evenly than Bruce expected. “Yeah, I’m okay. Yeah, Bruce is with me.”

Tony looked over at Bruce and Bruce looked down quickly so Tony wouldn’t see that he had been watching him.

“I know, I should’ve called first, it was kind of a last minute decision, it’s just –” he paused then but Bruce could tell it wasn’t because his mom was talking, it was because he was trying to get the words out smoothly and he couldn’t. “Pep – Pepper and I broke up.”

His voice cracked and he stepped towards the balcony then, going outside to afford himself some privacy.

Bruce couldn’t help but think of Betty then, and he looked back down at his phone to see she had finally replied.

_ I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Have fun in Miami. _

He stared at the message, remembering how on Friday night she said she didn’t want to be on a break and now this? Was it a front to hide her feelings or was she serious? Was she really better off without him?

Either way he couldn’t just  _ not _ reply. Reading the message made his heart ache and he had to reply with something. He was never very good at hiding his hand.

_ I miss you though. You’d love this hotel. I wish you were here. _

Bruce didn’t feel great about sending that message and he looked out at the balcony where Tony was still on the phone with his mom, thinking that he should call his own mom but not wanting to get into it with her over the money he’d sent. Or the fact that he was in Miami after sending her all of the money in his savings account. Or that his father was supposed to get out of jail on the 15th and all that money had better have gone to bills before his dad could get his hands on it.

So yeah, he was going to have to call her. 

But his phone vibrated again and he looked down at the screen, the message hitting him like he’d swallowed a block of ice. 

_ I’m at my parents. I can’t do this right now. _

Can’t do... this? Talk to him? Immediately he felt an acute sense of shame and abandonment. He shouldn’t have messaged her at all, she was burdened by him. She didn’t want him at all, a text conversation was too much. She was his best friend and now he couldn't even message her about the hotel room he was in? 

The overwhelming need to call her then, to tell her everything – Tony throwing his phone out the window, their ridiculous fight on the side of the highway, Tony and Pepper breaking up, the weird exits they'd been to and gas station attendants without any teeth, how the receptionist thought they were gay and Tony saying he slept with Rhodey hundreds of times – everything, the way he should've, the way he would've if they'd not agreed to this “break,” made his heart ache. 

But she didn't want to hear it. She couldn't deal with him right now.

He heard the sliding glass door wizz open and shut again as Tony came in but he didn't even look up until Tony addressed him. 

“You wanna get out of here like? Go to the beach or something?”

He seemed jumpy and Bruce didn't blame him so he agreed somberly, digging a pair of his new swim trunks out of the Target bag to change. 

Tony didn’t say much as he grabbed drinks from the mini fridge, handing him his wordlessly in the hall as he lead the way to the beach. Bruce stared at it with uncertainty, pretty sure you weren’t supposed to drink on the beach but letting himself be dragged out by Tony anyway, not feeling it at all. He didn’t like the water and he didn’t like the feeling he had after texting Betty and he didn’t really want to drink either he really just wanted to curl up in bed, pull the comforter over his head, and pretend like he didn’t exist. 

He walked past the cabanas and lounge chairs and umbrellas and sat down at the edge of the water, chugging back half the beer and then screwing it down into the sand next to him. Bruce stared at him for a moment, then the ocean, then back at him, unable to guess what was going through his mind after talking to his parents. Ultimately he sat down next to him, setting down his beer too, not touching it.

They sat there for a while in silence, Tony’s face hard as he stared forward, Bruce watching the kids to the right of him running in and out of the water screaming with delight, the self-conscious group of teens flirting, a couple digging through the sand for the occasional shell, the water rolling to their feet, missing, and receding away from them. It was beautiful and a lot like he’d imagined: white sand, palm trees, and skyscrapers behind them – turquoise water and the infinite nothing before them. But it was hard to feel much of anything at all when Betty wasn’t there beside him. 

Tony held out his bottle towards him, waiting for him to clink the necks together, as they did. Bruce complied in sad solidarity but unlike on Friday, he was the one who wasn’t drinking this time. Tony raised a curious eyebrow at him as he removed the bottle from his own mouth, asking what was wrong in a gesture. 

“If you want me to get into that water at some point, I’m not going to drink.”

Tony made a face of mortification and immediately grabbed Bruce’s bottle and got up to take them both to the trash. When he got back he held out his hand, gesturing him up. 

“Come on, I wanna explain something to you.”

Bruce stood on his own, brushing sand from his trunks out of habit before realizing how ridiculous that was and stepping forward to the water with Tony. 

It was warmer than he expected as it rolled over his toes, pulling sand back from underneath them, little rivulets running back to the sea then pushing sand back over them when the waves came back in.

“What your dad was talking about wasn’t undertow, it was rip current,” Tony started, standing by his side. “It’s a common misconception but undertow isn’t really dangerous, at least not for adults. It might knock you on your ass, but these waves are pretty gentle. Come on, step out a little further.”

The water was shallow here so it seemed like a little further was a long way from the shore. Tony took them up to their knees and the feeling of the tide dragging at them made his heart beat faster despite the fact that he knew Tony wouldn’t put him in any danger. In fact he was grinning at him as a kid splashed past on a paddle board and Bruce swallowed hard. He looked really happy there. Bruce pretty much avoided his invites to his sailing events – though he and Betty had attended a regatta with Tony and Pepper once – and so Bruce never really realized how much Tony truly enjoyed the ocean.

“See? This is undertow. It’s no big deal, right?” 

Bruce nodded his head, trying to ease up, picking his feet up and replanting them as the sand was dragged from beneath them.

“Rip current is different. Rip current is...” Tony gestured to the ocean, pointing at the waves. “See all the waves, how they are all nicely variegated as they come in to the shore?”

Bruce watched for a minute as the waves came rolling in, one after another, in an angled pattern, and nodded his head again.

“Rip currents are irregular. They’re like... a long calm-looking swath of water separated by waves breaking on either side. Usually you’ll see foam being sucked back out to sea in a big fat column, making it more obvious. And most beaches will put out flags or even shut down if there is a high risk for rip currents.”

Bruce listened to what he said, staring at his feet, visible in the clear water, clearer than he’d ever seen before, and tried to let the methodic rhythm of the waves hitting his knees calm him the way people described. 

It had been over four years since he had even seen his father and yet still he was affecting him like this. At some point in his time at MIT he realized that no matter how far away he ran or how long it had been, his father’s voice was always going to be there, somewhere, whispering negativity at him from inside his own head. He didn’t really want to think about it, but if Tony was right – and Tony  _ was _ right – and he had an inferiority complex, then he most certainly got it from his father. And if that was a large part of what made his relationship with Betty so difficult – and it  _ was _ – then his father took her from him just as surely as he took anything good in his life and ruined it.

Bruce might not have been able to defeat the voice that told him he could never give Betty everything she wanted, but that voice didn’t have to have  _ this _ . 

He took another step out and Tony punched his shoulder lightly, turning around and taking a few backwards steps, watching him with a grin. Bruce tried out his own tentative grin as Tony fell dramatically backwards into the water, splashing him and making him laugh.

Tony swam backwards, egging him out further as Bruce followed cautiously. He wasn’t actually a poor swimmer, his aunt had paid for him to go to swim lessons at the rec center one summer, and slowly he grew more comfortable, easing in past his waist as the undertow faded away.

In a burst of confidence he lunged forward and swam a few strokes to where Tony was, the water up past his shoulders.

“Not so bad, huh?” Tony asked, the big grin on his face and his hair slicked back making him look especially goofy and Bruce laughed. 

“I guess it’s not  _ so _ bad,” he admitted and Tony splashed him in the face. 

“Not  _ so _ bad,” he mocked and Bruce splashed him back when a wave smacked them both in the face.

Tony spit water, shaking it out of his eyes, laughing. 

“You have to watch for it,” Tony said, turning towards the waves. “Then push off and you’ll rise with them. Not the little ones so much, but the bigger ones.”

For a few minutes he stood with Tony, letting himself be lifted by the waves and then stepping back out to meet them. With each one he felt his father’s voice fading, drowned out by the sound of the surf. 

“I used to love this as a kid,” Tony said – soft, Bruce almost didn’t catch it. “Now it just feels like it’s telling me to go back.”

And he took a few steps back, heading to the shore. Bruce followed, watching the broad lines of Tony's arms as he dove forward, pulling himself along with the waves. Bruce wasn't as confident and he could feel the slight tug of the undertow at his feet as he got closer, the wave behind him nearly knocking him down as it broke on the back of his knees. Briefly his heart tried to escape through his throat as he foundered, pounding against his chest, but both his heart and his feet stayed in place as he regained footing, stumbling out of the surf.

Tony was laying on the beach just out of reach of the surf and Bruce sat down next to him, breathing hard. His eyes were closed, water beaded on his body, chest rising and falling with the waves and he looked at peace. The sand was warm beneath them and Bruce was sure it felt good but he was wound tight. Something about the water droplets on Tony's eyelashes and the undertow and  _ he’s just a little bitch _ . 

Two women in bikinis passed by and Bruce watched them, chest tight, thinking of Betty in a bikini but she was always a bigger fan of winter. Maybe she wouldn't want to be here even if they were together.

Tony’s fingers dug into the sand, balling into fists a few times before he rolled over on his side, placing his hand perpendicular to the sand and dragging a swath of it up onto itself. Bruce stared, glad for the distraction, trying to figure out what Tony was doing.

After a minute it became obvious he was making a turtle and Bruce leaned forward to make the back legs. Tony flashed him a huge grin and sat up, jabbed his finger in the head twice to make a conspicuous pair of eyes, and sat up. 

“The sand isn’t really that good here for this. We need to move up a couple feet.”

And so they did – and for the next hour Bruce let Tony distract him with his impressive knowledge of sand and castles as they built a long wall down the front of the beach while the tide went out.


	5. Monday, December 24

The next morning depression had settled in around Bruce’s shoulders like a vice and he continued to lay in bed after Tony made coffee and ordered some kind of room service that included muffins and juice. 

They had stayed in the night before, ordered pizza, made rum and Cokes from the mini fridge, and watched bad movies on cable – obviously trying to ignore the depths of their feelings. But Bruce couldn’t do it in the morning and he just lay there with a bad taste in his mouth, wanting to forget that it was Christmas Eve and Betty probably posted another picture of her smiling and he needed to call his mom and Tony was going to need him to be more functional and smile and just get the fuck up already...

“Hey.”

Bruce opened his eyes and gazed across the space to where Tony was sitting with his coffee on the couch. 

“I think I’m going to take my car to get an oil change. There’s a Cadillac dealer about twenty minutes from here. You okay with that?” Tony asked carefully. “You can come too, I’ll wait for you to get dressed and eat or whatever, I just thought you might like some time.”

Bruce rubbed at his eyes and sighed. Tony knew him pretty well, knew he needed time alone, knew he felt shitty too. Frankly, he didn’t really want to be alone, but he did need to call his mom. It was Christmas Eve.

“That’s fine,” he said. “You should go.”

“I left you some scones and shit. And you can order anything you want to the room, you know.”

Bruce nodded but he closed his eyes again, waiting for Tony to leave so he could be alone in the quiet and pretend he was someone somewhere else.

He listened to Tony gather his things and was intensely relieved when he heard him say goodbye and the heavy door fell closed. For a few minutes he just lay there, not wanting to move. He stroked himself a minute, contemplated masturbating, but he knew it would ultimately only make him feel shittier afterward. Plus he had to piss, so he eventually forced himself up and into the shower.

While he didn’t want to look at Instagram, he couldn’t help himself once he had a cup of coffee and settled into the couch to call his mom. And as he’d predicted, there was Betty, smiling in her selfies, like nothing at all was wrong. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. She’d always had walls, and he knew that, he did too – in fact, one of the things Bruce loved about her was that she let him in. But from where he sat it felt a lot like nothing had changed for her, they’d only made it official. 

Hurt tended to manifest in anger for him – no thanks to his dad – but he managed not to throw his too expensive, brand new phone across the room. Instead, he got up and went to the deck, gripping the railing as hard as he could until his knuckles were white, breathing in the salty air and trying to let it calm him down – though it didn’t. 

But Bruce did eventually calm down in spite of himself. Depression had a way of doing that. He ate a croissant quickly, more irritated than angry but still amped up, and swallowed it down with cold coffee and picked back up his phone. He didn’t want to make this phone call but it wasn’t going to get any easier so he pulled up her number and put the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?”

His mom’s warm, comforting voice, tinged with the rasp of cigarettes, always hit him in that particular way that made him homesick and happy and depressed all at once.

“Hey mom.”

“Bruce?” she asked, sounding surprised, then immediately subdued, embarrassed even. “Gosh, Bruce – it’s nice to hear your voice. Merry Christmas.”

Bruce swallowed hard, tried to will some words out, quite suddenly feeling like he was going to cry. 

“I hope things are okay there, now.”

It was hard to discuss money with her – hard for him to talk about money at all because he was raised in such a way where not having it was a vivid reality and hard for him to talk about money with her because of how guilty she felt about that – so they never really said it out loud. 

“I guess your aunt tattled on me, huh?” She tried to laugh but it was weak and Bruce wasn’t sure right then what he wanted most of all – to be curled up on the couch with his head in her lap or to be able to wrap his arm around her shoulders and hold her the way only he could.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Bruce replied, not wanting her to feel guilty but not wanting her to think she couldn’t come to him. “I have a job, and scholarship money.”

“And I know how expensive it must be in Boston...”

“And I’m almost done,” Bruce reminded her. “A couple more months and I’ll find a way to fly you out for graduation and I’ll find a job and –” he caught himself with what he wanted to say “– and it’ll all be okay. So don’t worry about it.”

He wanted to tell her that she never had to go back, that she could live with him and he would take care of her, that she never had to see his asshole dad again – but she’d never agree. Never. Not on the phone like this, anyway, when it was all hypothetical, so he just didn’t say it rather than hear her choose his father over him. He didn’t think he could take it right now. 

“Well, you know I appreciate it.”

“Of course, mom.”

“And I almost wish you had spent it on coming home for Christmas,” she continued and his heart did hurt a little at that. The beach rolled by outside the sliding glass door in this expensive hotel but the snowy little run-down ranch in Ohio still tempted him – even despite all the shit that had happened there. 

Talk about abusive. 

“Tony took me to Miami with him,” he said, kind of laughing, trying to be light and probably failing because he generally sucked at that. “So that’s where I am, anyway, and I’m not alone, you know, so it’s okay.”

He hated thinking about her being alone, feeling like he was rubbing it in, but he also knew it would make her feel better to know at least one of them was somewhere doing something with someone for Christmas. 

“Wow,” she murmured. “That was nice.”

“Yeah... I think he needed me more than I needed to go, but it’s nice. You’d love it. Sand as far as you can see.”

“Your aunt is supposed to come up for New Years since – well, you know.”

_ Since your father is in jail. _ Yeah. He knew. She wouldn’t drive the few hours to see her own sister while he was around and condone the relationship. Not that Bruce blamed her but it still hurt his mom. It had been years since they’d seen each other face to face. She didn’t even come to his high school graduation – which, given how that day went, was probably a good thing. 

“I’m glad,” he replied as enthusiastically as possible, even managing a smile. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered, clearly pleased as well. “It’ll be good. Wish it was you, but I miss her too.”

“Tell her I said ‘hi,’ yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

They talked another few minutes but neither of them knew how to say what they needed to and still save face. In the end he couldn’t bring himself to be hard on her about his dad getting out of jail next month and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him not to send any more money. They had shared a phenomenal amount of shit together – only they would ever really know or understand each other. 

And as he hung up the phone he felt it edging at him, the sucking sadness that was slowly enveloping everything. He set the phone on the end table and lay down again, wishing he could just cry and get it over with but the tears wouldn’t come.

Eventually Bruce decided he had to get out of that room or he was going to become completely despondent and while the idea didn’t exactly bother him, he wasn’t back in his room alone at MIT, he was here now and he didn’t want to drag Tony any further down.

He grabbed his phone and texted Tony he might go find the pool and Tony was quick to reply with a ‘do it!’ and that they’d just taken his car back now but he’d join him when he got back. 

So he changed and put on the slippers that came with the room since he didn’t have anything other than his boots, wrapped his headphones around his phone, and made sure he didn’t leave without his keycard.

Trying to feel like he belonged there as he wandered through the lobby and past several high-class restaurants as he attempted to find the pool was more difficult than he anticipated and he shirked eye contact with everyone as he passed. It was just so much different than Boston. At least there he could pull off bookish old-money when he had to by just being quiet and astute but here? Everything was so flashy and  _ white _ and everyone seemed so confident and he was in a pair of swim trunks bought at Target and a shirt emblazoned with the red  _ Stranger Things _ logo.

Thankfully he finally found the pool without having to talk to anyone and although it was fairly crowded, a lot of people had abdicated to the poolside bar and restaurant, leaving a double lounge chair in the shade for him and eventually Tony.

Frankly, this wasn’t his scene, and the idea of relaxing poolside with so many people was laughable but still, Bruce tried. People watching helped stave off his thoughts a little, anyway, even if it wasn’t exactly relaxing. But he ordered a beer from the poolside staff, which  _ was _ a little more relaxing. Watching couples have the romantic getaway he was supposed to be having certainly wasn’t comforting but there were a few kids running around causing enough commotion to be some kind of distraction. 

Bruce had just managed to close his eyes when his chair shifted and he bolted upright to see a girl grinning at him and blushing. Her mouth moved so he took out an earbud and blinked and she started again. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, grinning and bobbing her head and holding up her drink, indicating – Bruce thought – that she was tipsy. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“It’s okay,” Bruce assured her, hoping that was the end of that when she abruptly sat down on the end of the chair that was attached to his and meant for Tony. 

“Is anyone sitting here?”

“No, but –” he started, about to say something about Tony, but she clearly wasn’t asking a question, although she phrased it as one.

“I didn’t mean to run into you but here you are, all alone,” she continued, reaching out one small pale hand. “I’m Joy.”

“Bruce,” he said, uncertain what she wanted and not really wanting to have a conversation but giving her hand a squeeze anyway. 

“I’m here for a wedding,” she said, taking a large swallow of her mixed drink and smiling. “I know, what kind of balls does a woman have to have her wedding the week of Christmas, right? Are you  _ trying _ to upstage Jesus?” 

Bruce forced an uncomfortable grin as she laughed at her own joke. He wondered how rude it would be to just put his earbuds back in. She was pretty, sure, blonde and thin and in an attractive, bright floral bikini with a cute twinge of Southern accent, but what the hell was she talking to  _ him _ for?

“But it’s none of my business, it’s not my wedding,” she chuckled and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “I’m single. I’m too young and beautiful for all that.” She glanced down for a moment, looking at something on his chair, then smiled back up at him. “What do you think about marriage, Bruce?” 

What he really thought was that it was a fucking weird question but he didn’t think the truth – that he had been seriously contemplating popping the question before his girlfriend basically broke up with him – was what she was looking for. 

“I dunno,” he said instead. “I guess it works for some people.”

Joy laughed, even though he hadn’t been joking.

“Where are you from?” she asked, leaning in a little, off-puttingly intent. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“Boston,” he replied and there was that laugh again. 

“Ohh, Baaawston,” she said, dragging out the vowels in a way that sounded nothing like any Bostonian he’d ever talked to. “I bet it’s cold up there right now.”

He confirmed that it was and she went on for a minute, lambasting snow, unable to understand how anyone could live up there, and Bruce was fairly certain he was either going to start to panic or say something extremely unfortunate by accident if she didn’t leave soon when finally, Tony showed up. 

The instant surge of relief he felt was somewhat embarrassing but still, he couldn’t help it. Tony was so much better at this than him. He flashed an effortless smile, picking up Bruce’s beer and swallowing down a few glugs. 

“So I see you saved me a seat.”

“I  _ tried _ ,” Bruce answered shamelessly, sure that his eyes betrayed how uncomfortable he was, but then that was the best part of being anywhere with Tony – he could instantly pick up on anyone’s cues and he knew how to get out of any social situation with ease.

For her part Joy looked at Tony in the way Bruce was accustomed to women looking at Tony – like he was every bit as attractive as he was. But Bruce wasn't jealous, he was just happy to have her eyes off of him.

“And who is this?” she asked, another non-question. “You didn't tell me you were waiting on a friend.”

“I  _ tried _ ,” Bruce muttered out again though he wasn't sure if it was even audible over Tony's charming laugh.

“A  _ friend _ ,” he repeated with amused innuendo Bruce didn't understand as his eyes dropped without regard from Joy back to him. “Come on, Brucie – let’s get some lunch.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed suspiciously – Tony loved pet names though he didn’t especially use them with him – but he didn’t say anything, he just wrapped his headphones and put his shirt back on. 

“Good to meet you,” he mumbled out, ready to dart, and she was unable to hide her disappointment. 

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” she replied but Bruce could only hope that wouldn’t happen. 

As they stepped away Tony threw his arm over Bruce’s shoulder and Bruce jolted, looking at him in confusion. 

“What  _ are _ you doing?”

Tony was grinning but he dropped his arm as they took a table as far as possible from where Bruce had been sitting. He apparently had coopted Bruce’s beer entirely as he finished it off and winked. 

“That girl was hitting on you  _ hard _ , bruh,” he teased and Bruce was sure his face read disbelief. 

“What? Didn’t you see how she looked at you?”

Tony just rolled his eyes. “I saw her talking to you the whole time I was approaching and I know what I saw.”

“And then – what? You were pretending to be my boyfriend?”

Tony chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed. “You looked so miserable I figured that was the quickest way to get her to back off.”

“Well –” Bruce couldn’t really argue that logic so he decided to stop. “Thanks.”

The waiter came in then and they ordered more beer and lobster rolls and Tony bitched about the whole Cadillac dealer experience and Bruce felt himself start to relax again, little by little. 

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Tony asked when they got their food, picking up a big hunk of lobster that fell from the roll and popping it in his mouth with satisfaction. “We could walk the boardwalk or find a bar to hang out at or a club...”

Bruce took a bite of his own lobster roll, relishing in its deliciousness, a favorite of his back in Boston that he only got when he had some spare cash, realizing as he tried to slow his eagerness that it was past noon and he hadn’t eaten much that day.

“You think clubs are open on Christmas Eve?” he asked and Tony laughed. 

“On Miami Beach, I bet they are.”

Bruce was silent for a minute. He didn’t really want to go to a club. A bar, maybe. He honestly wouldn’t have minded going back to the room and drinking rum and Coke and watching shitty TV again. But a club?

“I’m not sure I’m ready for a club.” 

At least, if Joy was any indication, he was not ready to get hit on by chicks. Or pretend to be interested in them. Plus he still wasn’t sure where he stood with Betty and he wasn’t going to trample all over it at a club for a one night stand. 

“Maybe a gay club,” he offered instead and Tony’s eyes lit up, which... made Bruce feel some kind of way he tried to ignore. 

It wasn’t like he  _ cared _ , he wouldn’t have offered if he had a problem going to a gay club. Yet the look in Tony’s eyes made him feel  _ something _ – something painful and angry – and even though he had suggested it he was glad when Tony eventually shook his head. 

“No, I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret.”

For a moment they were quiet until Bruce piped up, trying to sound optimistic because it was somehow harder watching Tony start to wallow in his grief than to deal with his own, “the boardwalk, then?”

Tony nodded his head, though it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere. Bruce wasn’t sure whether to try to drag him back or not. He decided he’d let it go, but it was hard, because he wanted Tony to talk, he wanted Tony to be his regular, upbeat self, wanted Tony to make this a little easier for him. It wasn’t fair, it was too much to ask, but Bruce still wanted it. He wanted Tony to be normal. 

“I just can’t understand how it’s my fault when she never even asked me, you know?” Tony said at last, drowning the rest of his beer and motioning to the waiter for another. 

Bruce could do nothing but try not to stare. Tony was not forthcoming with his emotions, and this was the first time he’d said anything about Pepper since their ugly roadside fight. He was sure Tony needed to talk about it, but he wished he’d given him a little bit of warning.

“It’s almost like it didn’t even happen, I mean... She went to the ob appointment without me. By the time she finally told me, she handed me the ultrasound picture, went on a big spiel about how ‘inopportune’ this would be, then let me know she had an appointment two days later.”

He watched Tony’s face contort into anger or maybe he was going to start crying again, it was hard to tell. But honestly, Bruce didn’t blame him. He was speechless. 

“It was her decision, you know, and I know that, it’s just –”

The waiter interrupted him with his beer and he asked for the check at the same time. Bruce was left wondering if he was going to continue as he picked at the label and sipped at the beer and he didn’t know what he should say or if he should say anything at all. Interpersonal shit was not his forte, but he didn’t want to leave Tony hanging. 

“It would have been really hard, for both of you,” Bruce tried, slowly, watching Tony’s face because not only was he out of his depth, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would feel in Tony’s shoes. “Graduating and trying to raise a baby? It would have really been hard on her, especially.”

“I know, I know,” Tony sighed, aggravated, looking away and fidgeting even worse. “It’s just – I didn’t even get a chance to process what was happening before it was taken away from me. And I know, it isn’t about me, but kinda, a little bit, it was, you know? It was... He, or she, was my baby too.”

Tony lulled for a moment, his eyes watering, but he seemed to swallow down his sadness in beer because when he set the bottle down he was angry. 

“And I did the little bit she allowed me to do. I paid for it, I asked her if she wanted me there, I tried to comfort her after – but it was like she wanted to pretend nothing at all happened. But it  _ did _ happen. And it’s  _ my _ fault for wanting to process that? She never gave me the chance.

“Then to lose her too?” 

Tony’s knuckles were white on the beer bottle and he looked like he wanted to punch something but Bruce was at a loss for what to say to calm him down. Whether right or wrong, his anger was understandable, and Bruce sure as hell didn’t think there was anything he could say to help. 

But then he huffed out a sigh and kind of sagged in the seat.

“I love her. She broke my heart. Oh well,” Tony said, brushing it off completely as he signed the check a little more aggressively than was really necessary. “To the boardwalk?”

Bruce was ashamed at how relieved he was for this turn in conversation. “I might need better shoes first,” he said, gesturing to the hotel slippers he wore down to the pool and Tony laughed. 

“Room first.”

They managed to get sidetracked in the room for a while, thanks to alcohol and Instagram. Bruce had taken to it to post a rare picture from him as Tony was changing into something less formal than he wore to the dealer – ostensibly a picture of the lobster roll with the caption “just like home” – but the first picture that came up in his feed was of Betty’s knees in snowflake patterned tights with a cup of hot chocolate resting on them, wrapped in her hands, in front of the Christmas tree, lights all blurred out, and underneath the line “O Christmas tree, your boughs so green in summertime, stay bravely green in wintertime” and for the first time, Bruce didn’t feel empty, sad, or lonely. He felt angry. 

Immediately he whipped out the reply “O fuck you” but then thought better of it before hitting ‘post’ and threw the phone on the bed, pacing to the other end of the room and gathering his boots from the sliding glass door, angrily ripping at the laces. 

What did she know about bravery and winter? She was the one who wanted this. First few words out of his mouth and she was asking for a break. Fuck her. She wasn’t allowed to suffer like he was. She wasn’t allowed pity.

He knew that really wasn’t fair but he didn’t get very far into that thought before a wolf whistle distracted him and he blinked, disoriented, looking for the source of that sound. 

“Who is THAT?” Tony exclaimed, staring at his phone; Bruce hadn’t even heard him exit the bathroom. “Have you seen Steve’s most recent post?” 

Bruce didn’t even respond but he knew he didn’t need to as Tony crossed the small distance between them and sat down on the bed, thrusting the phone in his face. 

“Where the hell did he find  _ this _ guy?” Tony asked and for reasons Bruce couldn’t explain all the fire in his gut instantly turned to ice as he stared at a picture of an extremely well defined man, probably a football player of some sort, who was tall and blond with the most charismatic grin. 

“I mean,  _ damn _ . Who knew Mr. Straight Arrow knew so many absolutely fuckable guys? Should I have played football in high school or? Am I allowed to –”

Bruce began to tune him out as he rambled and just focus on breathing through the tightness in his chest as he laced his boots. What the hell did he care? It wasn’t like he was being unfair to Pepper or had any real intention of going after this random guy. This was just Tony’s coping mechanism and he knew that. So why did he feel so bad about it?

Thankfully it wasn’t long before Tony moved on to the subject of football in general, which was an easy topic to rag on at MIT, and Bruce began breathing through the beer Tony put in his hand and it got easier. Maybe it was just the idea of being single again that Bruce couldn’t stand. But he tried to just ignore it as they left for the boardwalk. 

The boardwalk was basically gorgeous. Flanked by bright green palm trees and bushes that apparently never faded in the Florida heat and the bright turquoise blue of the ocean, it really did look like a picture in a magazine. Beautiful hotels towered to the left and sandy beaches faded into the ocean to the right and it was like nothing Bruce had ever seen. 

Tony rambled at length about his childhood visits here, a thing which captivated and amazed Bruce, who’d only ever been to a hotel a handful of times and here Tony was, treating this paradise like it were normal and mundane. 

“I used to think this was the best place in the world,” Tony laughed, sipping his beer. “I guess when I was little I didn’t really ‘get’ that the reason my mom and Tea were so chill here was because my dad wasn’t around. I just thought if he came too maybe he would be happier too. But it didn’t really matter, even when I realized it – I started to look forward to our trips to get away from him too.

“It’s changed a lot though – this whole boardwalk didn’t even used to be here. I mean I guess it hasn’t changed  _ that _ much but, you know, from a kid’s perspective. There used to be a playground down the way here. At least News Cafe is supposedly still open – I’ll have to take you there. It’s back the other way though. We used to get up early and go in for breakfast at least once a week to people watch all the tourists and try to guess where they were from.

“At least they didn’t get rid of the funky lifeguard stands.

“Sometimes there would be big concerts and thousands of people would come, of course, but you could also see boats out in the ocean, circling the area to listen. I always thought that was so cool. Standing out on a deck with a drink listening to a concert... I don’t remember any of the bands now, I mean, we never really went, but it was cool to see it happen, you know?”

Bruce nodded as he went on, watching people leave the beach as the sun went down in favor of warmer venues. It was easy to let it get to him, thinking about how different his life was than Tony’s and Betty’s and Steve’s and Pietro’s – everyone he knew. Being here seemed to make it more apparent. Of course he wasn’t good enough for her. 

But as they walked he tried to pull himself together. He was good enough for MIT. He could change his life. He should appreciate Tony bringing him down here, appreciate the opportunities he had been given to become better than he was. And maybe part of him would always feel somewhat insecure, thanks to his upbringing, his father, many, many things – but he needed to shove that down and pretend he was becoming more than how he was raised. Because he could be. In fact, he was. No one saw him the way he saw himself. He just needed to look at it through their eyes.

When they reached the end of the boardwalk Bruce figured they’d turn back, but Tony just kept on walking, down through the sand and past a kid’s playground, back to where there were some volleyball nets in the sand. There were two girls playing there and much to Bruce’s consternation, Tony’s eyes lit up and his mouth formed his signature playful grin as soon as he saw them.

Bruce groaned internally when he heard Tony call out, “would you ladies like a pair of contenders?” 

The girls shared a look and Bruce decided they were most likely sisters, the same dirty blond hair, the same blue eyes, though one was taller and thinner, and the other had a broader build. Bruce suspected she was the older sister, her stance more confident, more protective as they approached.

“Wouldn’t exactly be fair to you,” the older one replied with a cutting smile. “She’s got a full ride at UNC.”

Tony laughed as he stopped in front of them, his easygoing charisma clearly winning at least the older sister over. “Well I’ve never had a problem losing to a woman.”

They introduced themselves, shaking hands, and the girls introduced themselves as Amy, who confirmed they were indeed sisters, and Cass, who was the younger of the two. As Bruce slid out of his boots and set his feet unsteadily in dense sand, he prepared to get absolutely slaughtered. He wasn’t particularly gifted when it came to sports, he never had been, a huge point of contention with his father, and the more his father pushed, the more he shut down, to the point he almost never participated, even in friendly games like this. 

They decided to split up and Bruce at least got paired with Cass, who knew what she was doing, and he warned her he would be literally no help whatsoever, that he went to MIT, and was the classic definition of a nerd. But she just laughed sweetly.

“Don’t worry – I’m used to carrying dead weight,” she said, a little shyly, but it actually helped put Bruce at ease.

They didn’t talk much, unlike Tony and Amy, as the game progressed, and at first Bruce hated every second of it. He was pretty bad. He missed a lot of balls as he couldn’t get the hang of moving in the sand. But Cass just laughed and it was always good natured, not at all the overt competitive nonsense of his childhood. And as the endorphins kicked in, he actually started feeling pretty good. They didn’t keep a formal score, though Bruce felt it was pretty close, and when the wind started to pick up and the sun had set so far that it was getting pretty dark and cold, they decided to get dinner together. 

They found a little sandwich shop back along the boardwalk and while they explained they just needed a break from Boston, Amy explained she’d just graduated a semester early from NC State and they were down here celebrating. Their parents had gotten divorced the previous year and it made Christmas awkward anyway so in their estimation, they weren’t missing much. They were friendly and fun but there was never any sort of assumption between them, like there often was with other guys, and when dinner was over they freely went their separate ways.

Although he had initially balked at Tony’s forwardness to join them, in the end as they were walking back to their hotel together, he felt better than he had felt on this entire trip so far. Tony’s spirits were lighter, too, his flow of anxious rambling halted to a few interesting tidbits on art deco architecture as they passed, an apparent interest of his mother’s that he picked up. Maybe he really should trust Tony’s coping methods more. Exercise and amiable company was exactly what he needed. Had it been up to him, he would have just wallowed in bed all day. 

Weirdly, it sort of gave him a new appreciation for his friend, and he watched his silhouette a minute in the lights of the hotels lining the boardwalk. He wondered how easy it was for Tony or if he had to push himself out of his comfort zone to talk to people too. Bruce had always imagined it was second nature for him, but now... Knowing what he was going through, this shared experience, it had to be difficult, right? To put yourself out there and smile when your heart was broken?

Either way he decided he was going to try to be a more helpful participant in this trip. Tony had asked him to come along, and it had to be for a reason. And if that reason was what he suspected, that Tony needed him to keep himself from getting lost in the sadness, then the very least he could do was help. No matter how uncomfortable it was. It would be better for them both.


	6. Tuesday, December 25

Despite the fact that yesterday ended on a high note, Tony woke up in a foul mood and they spent the entire morning in the room. It was difficult for Bruce because on the one hand, being an introvert and depressed and ready to selfishly indulge his own sadness, this was what he wanted. But on the other, Tony was drunk and angry by eleven am and it was extremely reminiscent of his childhood. And sure, Tony wasn’t angry at  _ him _ – in fact, he wasn’t speaking much at all – but it didn’t matter. The pervasive feeling of negativity was oppressive to the point that Bruce found it physically difficult to breathe and he knew he had to do something or he was going to become aggressive himself. 

Finally he mustered up the courage to suggest going to the pool, even despite the potential risk of running into Joy again. Tony wasn’t particularly compliant but once it appeared that Bruce was serious and had changed into his swimsuit, he reluctantly agreed. 

The pool was mostly deserted, given that it was Christmas, and so they got quick service poolside. Tony immediately ordered a mixed drink while Bruce, though typically hesitant to order on Tony’s dime without asking, ordered coconut shrimp and prosciutto pizza and a fruit plate in the interest of sobering Tony up a little. Tony didn’t object, though he did order a drink for Bruce too, and Bruce didn’t object either, despite how revolted alcohol made him feel at that moment. 

But the food seemed to help and after some pizza Tony started to ease up on the liquor and became a little more conversational and less tense. Bruce sipped his own drink slowly between shrimp and felt the weight on his chest ease up. He glanced over at Tony, feeling like he saw in him the reflection of what was a hundred horrible Christmases rolled into one. 

Although he didn’t want to, Bruce knew it helped Tony to talk, so he took his life into his own hands and blocked out the mental image he had of Tony nailing Steve in the face and asked –

“So I guess this day is as memorable for you as it is for me?”

For his part, Tony laughed. It was a short, sarcastic laugh, but it wasn’t openly hostile so Bruce decided to take it as a win. 

“Yeah – memorable. You could say that.” 

Tony picked at the fruit and Bruce realized it was going to take more divulging on his end than that and he knew, despite shared negative feelings, their Christmas experiences had to be dramatically different. 

Thinking back to it though... It was hard. How do you explain the things that hurt you without being vulnerable? Bruce supposed you didn’t. He just fucking hated to be vulnerable.

“My mom used to get me up early, before my dad, who was still sleeping off his hangover from the night before,” Bruce started slowly. 

Tony didn’t look over at him, but Bruce could tell he was interested. It felt more like Tony was trying to afford him some sense of privacy for what he was about to disclose than that he didn't care.

“Our Christmases weren’t anything to write home about, you know – we were always broke and any money my mom ever managed to squirrel away was eventually given to my dad under some false pretense so he could buy more alcohol.”

He watched Tony’s lips tighten into a sympathetic grimace and he hated it, he had to look away. 

“I didn’t really mind that part, though. She always had some toy and a new pair of shoes or jeans or something. One year she managed to get me a TI-89 calculator. Brand new. She knew I needed it for the advanced math I was taking in high school. I honestly don’t know how she pulled it off. I was shocked. She told me to run up to my room and hide it from my dad so he didn’t try to sell it.”

Bruce laughed at that. It was painful, but honest. It was a ridiculous thing to have to do. Embarrassing and ridiculous and truthfully? Pretty funny.

“But then we would have pancakes shaped like snowmen and have a precious hour or so to ourselves to celebrate and that was always nice. It wasn’t like we lived in a rich area or anything – the other kids all had similar experiences and we’d all be turned out of the house to play in the snow. There would always be one jerk kid who got something really great and he had to show it off but otherwise, none of us really talked about it.”

There was a long silence as Bruce finished his drink, swirling the ice in the glass and staring into it. It felt somehow wrong to be drinking on Christmas after how long he’d resented his father over it, but he tried to remember his father was a thousand miles away and this was his life and he wasn’t going to turn into his father with one cocktail. He wouldn’t let himself be controlled by him any more.

“My dad was always in a great mood on Christmas morning,” Tony started slowly and Bruce just nodded his head, didn’t look over at him, hearing the twinge of guilt in his voice for saying anything at all. 

It was something Bruce had gotten used to with rich kids and one of the many reasons he never opened up about his childhood with them. No matter what they had experienced, to them, it never seemed as bad in comparison to being poor. Truthfully, while Bruce was aware they were poor as he got older, it didn’t really affect him that much. Everyone was poor. His mother always made sure he had food – even if that meant food stamps – and decent clothes – even if they were church hand-me-downs – and he didn’t really think about it that much. Poor was certainly nothing compared to watching his father hit his mom, watching him go to jail, watching her repeatedly forgive him and let him back in. Just being poor would have been easy. 

“My dad always liked the pageantry of it – Christmas. He liked to pretend he was a doting father and he lavished on praise and presents on holidays – especially Christmas. When I was a kid I really bought into it, thought he was sincere, you know.” He chuckled in this sad little way that Bruce couldn’t help but sympathize with. “But as I got older I realized mom never was, she was always restrained, standing in the background, holding back her anger. I just ignored her in favor of the attention I desperately wanted from dad. I really regret that...”

Bruce frowned. He couldn’t really relate to wanting any attention from his dad – that only ever caused him pain – but he could definitely relate to feeling guilty about his mom.

“I’m sure she knows,” Bruce started but Tony shifted uncomfortably, sighing.

“Yeah, I know she knows, but still – I shouldn’t have done that to her.”

Tony stopped for a minute, ordered them more drinks Bruce had every intention of ignoring, and snagged the last piece of pizza. Once he got his new drink though he continued reluctantly. 

“Unfortunately dad’s enthusiasm carried through the day and every year we’d have a big dinner for all of his family and every year it was a complete disaster,” Tony muttered, throwing back half of his drink in one go. “He’d do a 180 and expect me to be dressed in a suit with a tie and play piano for everyone and recite any number of facts he deemed interesting. I hated it, my aunts and uncles and cousins hated it and consequently hated me. He gave them all expensive gifts but by the end of the night it would always devolve into some massive fight about money and inheritance and everyone would leave angry.”

Tony paused and Bruce finally looked over at him, watching him watch the bubbles in his glass float to the top. “I’m sure that sounds stupid to you, but it was really miserable, knowing I had to show off in front of all those people rolling their eyes and muttering under their breath and, even worse, that eventually I was going to fuck something up and disappoint him and lose all the favor my dad had shown me that morning...”

“I’m sure,” Bruce replied, no judgement in his voice at all. He couldn’t imagine being the focus of that many people at once. He much preferred being left alone most of the time – even if he was lonely. At least he could only disappoint himself. 

“That’s why I never go home at Christmas – nothing’s changed, I just see it for what it is now.” He took a sip. “My senior year at boarding school my mom took me to Italy for Christmas to visit the family she never got to see – pissed my dad off bad. But it’s the only really good memory I have of Christmas.”

“And now we’ve got this,” Bruce mumbled after a minute and Tony snorted, finishing his drink. 

“Yeah. This.” Tony set the glass down and ran his hands through his hair. “We should go see a movie or something.”

The change of topic made Bruce hesitate but then he was getting used to Tony’s quick switch away from sensitive subjects. 

But that was what they did, going back to the room, looking up movie times, and changing out of swim trunks before walking down to the nearest Regal. It was a mile away, which didn’t bother them, and truthfully Bruce was a little thankful to burn some of the alcohol out of Tony’s system. He didn’t talk much the whole way, but Bruce let it go. He didn’t really know what to say anyway. 

They had decided on _Star Wars_ , a film they both missed thanks to their aggressive schedules, and Bruce was perfectly happy to zone out to the resistance for two and a half hours – though unfortunately that turned out to be a sham. He had managed not to think about Betty as much as possible today – though mostly that was due to his concern over Tony – and it helped ease the pain of her complete lack of communication. But sitting in the theater – it was a lot more difficult. He was used to going to the movies with her. Plus she was a huge nerd and he knew she wanted to see this. He promised her several times that they would go. So every time something happened that bought into one of her multiple fan theories, he would turn to nudge her only to remember it was Tony sitting next to him and find that hole in his chest where Betty was just ached. 

“I don’t know – Luke just seemed so out of character in this one. What happened to him during all those years after _Return of the Jedi_?” Tony said as he finished the laundry list of transgressions he’d apparently been compiling angrily in the theater as they meandered back in the general direction of the hotel. 

Even though they had yet to see the movie, this was something Betty had talked about extensively, and it was hard not to instantly reply with ‘Betty said that’ but Bruce swallowed it back and rephrased. 

“I heard Mark Hamill took to twitter about it – I guess he wasn’t thrilled with it either...” Bruce replied, distracted as he thought about it. To him, it didn’t seem that grave a sin to become a cynic. Then again, he always had been. “But maybe he’s just tired.”

Tony laughed and it made Bruce feel defensive because...  _ He _ was tired. Most of last semester he questioned whether it was even worth it and though he kept coming back with yes, stick it out, your mom needs this,  _ you _ need this – he just didn’t know how much fight he had left. Had to be enough for another semester but... he sympathized with Luke. He didn’t understand how Tony  _ didn’t _ . He was the one who claimed he wasn’t going back.

But after a few minutes of silence, Tony came around. 

“Yeah,” he offered soberly. “You have a point.”

They talked about it a little more, a couple veiled euphemisms for their current situation thrown in there, Bruce thought, but he wasn’t going to question Tony too aggressively. The sun was setting and the breeze was cool and the ocean crashing in the background made everything seem so deeply nostalgic for a time and a place he didn’t even think existed and even though Tony was right there, mumbling mostly to himself, he felt so painfully lonely he truly didn’t know then how he was going to find the fight to go on. For the first time he really understood why Tony said he wasn’t going back. He knew he could never do it – that the sun would rise and he would get up and he would do what he had to, because he couldn’t not – but still. It seemed like it would be so much easier to just stay here, huddle up in some little hole and never come out.

Walking along the piers and boardwalks and side streets – down into a part of the city that was already forgetting about Christmas – Tony was still surprised by how many places were actually closed. But he ended up taking them to a tapas bar that was somehow more like a club – a weird combination that you’d be hard pressed to find in Boston. Neon lights and live music and a long bar and an extensive list of fruity cocktails with weird names. Tony ordered a pitcher of some special Christmas sangria with cranberries and oranges and a whole bunch of food Bruce had never heard of let alone tried – wagyu sliders and octopus with saffron and beef carpaccio and Peruvian ceviche. Bruce honestly didn’t know if he wanted to even try half of that stuff but knowing what it cost meant he was determined to try. 

They had been seated towards the back at a two person table with a good view of the relatively empty venue. It was still Christmas day, after all, and the overly sweet sangria wasn’t going to let him forget it either. But s hortly after the food came a group ten girls were seated at a long table next to them. They were all dressed in cute patterned tights and tight dresses and heels and there was Tony, unable to stop himself from staring. 

It shouldn’t have bothered him. He didn’t want it to bother him. But nonetheless Bruce found himself focused on the food instead, trying to discern whether he really wanted to try raw beef or not. 

“This can’t be a bachelorette party?” Tony asked of the girl closest to him once they got settled in and she laughed, shaking her head. It was clear they must’ve pre-gamed somewhere as Bruce watched out of the corner of his eye, so he wasn’t so sure. 

“It’s her birthday,” she replied, pointing down the way to a girl in pink with a tiara. “Her twenty-first, actually.”

“Wow,” Tony enthused with a handsome smirk. “Bad luck.”

She and the girl across from her laughed. “Yeah, she hates it.”

“We all did Christmas this morning but promised to take her out tonight,” the other girl added as the waiter came over to get their drink order. “Unfortunately all our favorite places are closed.”

Momentarily interrupting the girls, Tony declared with every ounce of his dashing charisma that as it was a birthday their first round was on him. For their part, they were all pleasantly shocked and surprised, thanking him profusely. It was obvious he'd instantly endeared himself to them. Bruce couldn’t help but pick his jaw up off the ground; he couldn’t imagine what it was like to have that kind of money. Was that what made Tony attractive to people? No – despite his negativity at that moment, Bruce knew there was more to it than that. But money sure didn’t hurt. 

“I’m Maxi,” the blonde next to Tony said, shaking their hands, and the dark skinned girl closest to Bruce introduced herself as Shayla and they shared their names back.

“You guys are going to come dance with us, right?” Maxi asked, a game smile on her face and internally Bruce groaned. 

Bruce knew he was supposed to be appreciating Tony’s socializing more, that he was supposed to be trying, but he was tired now. He wanted to eat and go to bed, throw the blanket over his face and bury himself in pillows and not have to try anymore. 

“Y’all aren’t from around here,” Shayla observed, directed more towards Bruce then Tony and he tilted his head in agreement. 

“Boston,” Bruce offered as Tony slid raw beef into his mouth, nodding. “We’re from MIT,” he continued, forcing himself to try. 

“Wow!” Shayla enthused, clearly impressed. “We go to University of Miami. Journalism major.” She laughed. “Because if I’m taking out $200k in loans at least it will be for a job I  _ know _ doesn’t even exist.”

Bruce was surprised by her sense of humor and both he and Tony laughed too while the girl seated directly next to her frowned. 

“We all told you to go into nursing with us,” she said and Shayla shrugged it off. 

“She’ll just meet a man from MIT and marry rich,” Maxi replied, laughing, and Shayla rolled her eyes. 

“They could be philosophy majors,” Shayla pointed out and Tony winced apologetically. 

“Aerospace engineering,” he confessed and Bruce chuckled too. 

“Bio-chem,” he admitted as Shayla shook her head, sipping her drink, clearly disappointed as Maxi laughed at her. 

“Too bad Boston is so damn cold,” she replied around her straw and Tony made a commiserating shrug around a mouthful of octopus and Bruce was just glad Tony was more enthused about eating the outlandish order he’d placed than he was. 

The venue had picked up a bit and the DJ started in earnest now, people moving to the dance floor as the waiter brought them another pitcher of sangria. Bruce hadn’t eaten much and at the quick pace they were drinking, he was definitely feeling it. So when Shayla asked him if he was coming, he agreed, a little shocked he was even doing it. She was dressed impeccably – a velour skirt with a mesh knit turtleneck with long sleeves, the outline of her bra visible through it. Brown and cream with bright red shoes that matched the bright red lipstick on her full lips. She was like the exact opposite of Betty and it made it easier to agree as Maxi and the girl sitting to her side grabbed Tony’s arms and dragged him – quite willingly – onto the floor.

Bruce was a terrible dancer but Shayla clearly wasn’t, though she seemed somehow amused by him and hung by him, laughing with him as she tried to get him to execute even basic dance moves. 

“Oh my gosh, you’re so stiff,” she chided, laughing. “Roll your hips. Oh jeez, no!” 

Shayla grabbed him by the waist, trying to apply pressure to show him how to move and he was laughing too, shaking his head. 

“I’ve no rhythm,” he explained and she pulled away, snapping her fingers and moving her shoulders in time to the beat. 

“Can you follow a beat?” she asked, clearly teasing but Bruce was shaking his head, laughing, as he tried to follow her lead to no avail. 

“I’m really – this isn’t something I do in Boston,” he explained loudly as she shook her head with a wide grin. “You can tell by my club attire.”

“You’re so cute,” she declared, turning around and backing up against him. “Here,” she offered, grabbing his hands and placing them on her waist, blessedly clear and easy for Bruce to follow. “If you can’t dance, you just gotta rely on the girl. Move with me.”

Truthfully he wasn’t any better at this and she was laughing at him and he was laughing at her laughing at him but without having her face to focus on, his eyes sought out Tony across the dance floor and when he found him he lost all interest in dancing. Tony’s tongue was down some girl’s throat, her whole body pressed up against his, moving so easily in time with the music, his hair slicked with sweat, and it made Bruce cold with a jealousy he couldn’t figure out. He was having a good time, he didn’t really want Shayla like that – but still, watching Tony pissed him off. 

“Hey – let’s go back and get a drink,” Shayla offered when she felt him stop moving entirely and he nodded, grateful to be away from Tony. 

They slid into the booth where their pitcher had been refilled and he poured them both a glass. She was right up next to him and he was staring at the empty seat where Tony had been and he just wished he knew what it was that made him feel so fucking bad. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized at length and she shook her head, taking her lips from the glass.

“Don’t apologize!” 

“It’s not you – you know,” he continued. “I’ve just – this weekend has been shit. We didn’t plan to come down here – I was supposed to propose to my girlfriend but we ended up breaking up instead.”

Shayla’s eyes went wide. “Shit.”

“Yeah and... obviously I’m not over it.”

“Obviously,” she sympathized, watching him swallow back the short glass quickly before pouring himself another.

“I have a real difficult time dating,” she confessed, swirling an orange rind in the glass. “I don’t really want to screw around, you know? The guys I meet never seem to get why I’m going to school or what I’m doing. I haven’t really dated a guy in over a year.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce replied, selfishly glad to hear her own pity party. She shrugged, holding her glass out for him to clink it and he did, throwing it back with her and grinning again as he refilled them.

They talked for a little while before she left for the dance floor once more. He was working his way through the rest of the pitcher when Tony reappeared, skin sheened in sweat, a big smile on his face and he flopped into the seat, pouring himself a glass and swallowing it down. 

“You ready to go?” 

Bruce wasn’t even sure what time it was but he was definitely ready to head out. His head was swimming and the music was getting to be overwhelming and he was tired and yeah – he was ready to go. 

Tony settled up the tab and decided to get a Lyft back to the hotel. Bruce was still a little pissed at Tony, spent the past hour or so stewing in it, but he followed his friend out willingly, letting himself be lead into the car, woozy. Tony was talking way too loud to the driver and to him and Bruce was just trying to ignore him the best he could, really just wanting to fall into bed and sleep off the alcohol, but when they got back to the hotel Tony was dragging him into the parking deck. 

“I totally forgot,” he was saying, laughing, and it was reverberating through the deck. “Come on, come on!” 

He popped the trunk and drug a bag out of it that Bruce had never seen before, opening it up conspiratorially. 

“I got them in South Carolina,” he said, grinning, and Bruce’s eyes went wide when he saw what was in there. 

“Fireworks?” 

“Yeah!” Tony enthused. “Let’s light ‘em up.” 

“Is that even legal here?” he asked, following behind Tony with trepidation, their drunken whispers way too loud in the interior space. 

“It’s Christmas!” Tony replied as they broke out from the parking deck and onto the beach.

However mad he had been at Tony in the restaurant, Bruce had completely forgotten about it now, and he was laughing and kicking off his boots because he could barely move in the sand. They went and stood where it was hard and impacted and wet – the tide real low – and Tony ripped open the package and began setting them up. Bruce dug around for the box of matches in the discarded bag and handed it over to Tony when he was done, the line of fireworks looking much straighter to Bruce then it probably actually was. 

He heard the crack of the match against the paper and Tony leaned down, lighting as many as he could at once – which was about three – before dropping the hot match in the sand.

These fireworks were much bigger than any Bruce had ever seen up close and personal. Not professional grade, obviously, but he was used to sparklers and firecrackers and that was about it. The first one went flying out over the water with a sharp whiz and Tony yelled after it, exploding over the surf with a brief flash of color, immediately followed by the next and the next. 

Tony was yelling and lighting them as quickly as he could and Bruce was laughing and egging him on, shouting at him to go faster for no other reason than that he was very drunk and it was Tony and his good mood was infectious. 

The next one was entirely different and Tony shouted, backing up and falling into Bruce as it exploded right there in the sand, shooting light and sparkles and screaming and they were laughing watching it. 

“Fucking roman candles!” Tony shouted at it as the next one did the same. “You were supposed to all be bottle rockets!” 

Even drunk Tony waited until they burned out before lighting the next match to set off the rest but before he got the chance a cry rang out across the sand – 

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Oh shit!” Tony hissed, laughing, as Bruce turned towards the shout, watching flashlight beams bounce off the sand. “Run!!” 

Bruce felt like he was moving in slow motion. Tony had grabbed his arm, pulling him for a minute, but then letting go and dashing across the sand faster than should have been humanly possible, especially given how drunk he was, disappearing into the darkness over a beach access walkway. The men with the lights – beach cops? was that what they were? – were still shouting, telling them to stop, but Bruce was moving painfully slow through the sand, his feet weighed down by it and the alcohol and he just wanted to get back to the parking deck and in the elevator and up to the room and that was about as far as his brain was able to take him as he nearly face planted in the sand. 

He couldn’t remember which way he was supposed to go – totally disoriented by the beach, by the lights of the hotels and the boats off the shore – but finally after what felt like an eternity he felt concrete under his feet instead of sand. And he slapped his wallet to the wall about ten times before his keycard found the parking deck access panel and the door unlocked and he darted inside, heart pounding in his chest so hard he thought he might throw it up, dashing through the parking deck in a haphazard line until he managed to find an elevator. 

There was no sign of Tony at all but he just had to remember his room number. He just had to remember his room number. What the  _ fuck _ was his room number?

He tried to walk a straight, normal line through the lobby so as not to draw suspicion but his legs were weak and he was dragging air into his lungs through his nose as calmly as he could while moving as quickly as he could, and he knew he was only managing a weird, exhausted, drunken shuffle but thankfully there were only a few other people in the lobby to see. He could feel all their eyes on him – though not a single one bothered him as much as his brain continually replaying the shout of “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” behind him as if the beach cops had managed to follow him this far. 

His hand smacked the elevator door and once the mirrored panels shut and he hit the floor he thought their room was on he completely dissolved into painful heaving laughter. He was crying tears of pure unadulterated elation and he was so tired he could barely stand. As the elevator doors opened he tried to get it under control but trying not to laugh only made laughing worse. 

The first few doors he tried didn't open and Bruce kind of started to panic until the last one did and he let the door fall hard behind him before leaning back into it and letting out the laughter he could no longer even try to contain. 

He fell to his knees on the floor and it hurt – his lungs, his ribs, his abs, they all hurt – he was laughing so hard. And then Tony was there, looking out at him from the bathroom, laughing too. 

“Oh shit man, you made it!” he exclaimed, relieved and laughing, his face red from exertion too. 

“You fucking  _ asshole _ !” Bruce accused through labored breaths, a shit eating grin on his face and Tony was laughing even harder now. 

“Your shoes!” Tony howled and Bruce looked back at his feet and realized he had forgotten them entirely. But he must’ve stepped in gum or something and he reached back at a dark spot on his foot, drawing his hand back at the wetness and inspecting it in front of bleary eyes, having a difficult time figuring out just what the fuck he was looking at. 

“I’m bleeding!” he realized all of a sudden, though it didn’t really bother him. Tony was laughing and lifting him up to his feet, hobbling him into the bathroom to get a better look at it. 

“You bled all through the lobby,” he laughed and Bruce remembered that horrific shuffle-walk he tried to maintain and could only imagine leaving a snail trail of blood in his wake and it was awful and it was hilarious. 

“I don’t even remember,” he tried to say but then Tony had his foot up on the sink and was splashing cold water on it and he nearly jumped and fell, surprised at the pain. “Fucking Christ!” 

“Don’t be a baby,” Tony admonished, his face shining with amusement still, looking so young and handsome in the fluorescent light. “I think there might be glass in there.” 

Bruce grit his teeth and studied Tony as he methodically touched at his foot with a pair of tweezers, somehow laser focused and calm even though he definitely had to still be drunk too. He hissed though as Tony dug a little deeper, declaring a triumphant “a-ha!” as he pulled out the sliver of glass from his foot. 

“Got it!” he exclaimed, placing it in the soap dish and rinsing Bruce’s foot again with alcohol and water. 

Bruce’s other leg was cramping in this position but Tony was clear he wasn’t going to let him go until he’d gotten him bandaged up and he wrapped his foot in a towel as he dug around in his toiletry bag that apparently also moonlighted as a first aid kit, dragging out gauze and an oversized band aid. 

“I’m so glad you didn’t get caught by the beach police,” Tony was saying and Bruce was nodding along, his heart rate finally returning to something like normal as Tony finished up his foot. “I really didn’t think they’d get on to us – not that fast.” 

“I  _ told _ you,” Bruce said, but he wasn’t really mad. He was panting and drunk and his endorphins were high and Tony released his foot, leaning back on the bathroom sink next to him, catching his breath as well. 

“I’m glad you came with me,” he was saying, so close their arms were pressed up against one another, and Bruce didn’t know why they were that close but he didn’t really care either, he was so fucked up right then he wasn’t really sure if he was going to collapse or throw up. His hands were still shaking. 

He looked over at Tony then, their faces so close he could see the way Tony’s eyes sparkled in the light and he could see the grease in his hair and the stubble across his cheeks and the sweat beaded on his face and the way his lips cracked as he grinned and he didn’t know what to say. It was like Tony was looking at him, looking for something, but Bruce had no idea what. 

And then... Then it was like everything slowed down again. He almost knew it was going to happen before it did but he couldn’t have believed it if he had given it more than a second thought so he could only stand there, paralyzed, waiting on the precipice of a cliff, waiting to see what would happen if he leaned just a little bit closer to the edge and – 

And Tony was kissing him.  _ Oh my God _ , Bruce’s mind screamed at him,  _ Tony was  _ kissing _ him!!  _ But there was literally nothing Bruce wanted more in that moment than Tony’s hard, warm mouth on his own. He was kissing him so  _ hard _ , with so much undeniable  _ passion _ ... Bruce had never been kissed that way before. Tony’s hands were on his face, holding him there, making sure he couldn’t let go, and it was so desperate and so needy and so  _ raw _ and Bruce fell headfirst into that kiss like he was ready to drown in it, opening his own mouth wider and wider as they warred for some kind of affirmation from one another. 

And then Tony’s hands weren’t on his face anymore – they were on his body, up under his shirt, feeling across the expanse of his back, his chest, dragging his nails across Bruce’s skin and pressing them together. Bruce felt like his body was on fire and he couldn’t tell if it was really his body or if it was Tony’s body up against his. Breathless and drowning he let Tony push him back, out of the bathroom, back into the wall of the room. He had his shirt up to his armpits and for one brief moment Tony disconnected his mouth, laving it across his chest to one hard nipple, biting it in such a way that caused Bruce to shout and his dick to jump, aching painfully in the constriction of his pants. 

Tony was wearing the biggest fucking self-satisfied grin as their lips connected again and Bruce couldn’t do anything in the face of such an onslaught. No one had touched him like this – no one. Not ever. Not even when things were good with Betty and they fucked until they couldn’t move – it still wasn’t like this. He just stood there as Tony ripped his pants open, his hands clawing at Tony’s shirt for some kind of purchase, knees weak, his whole body trembling, ready for it, _wanting_ it. 

In one strong, fluid motion Tony grabbed the waist of his pants, turning him from the wall and pushing him down into the bed. He leaned over him, reconnecting their mouths as his hands fumbled with his own pants and Bruce was just so thankful that he didn’t have to stand anymore. His knees were so weak, when Tony finally got his pants open and he pressed their bodies together, his hard dick pressed straight against Bruce's, he didn’t think he would have been able to stand. 

Tony’s hands were on his pants again, dragging them down his thighs as he moved his mouth down Bruce’s body until he was able to suck his entire dick into it. Realistically it probably wasn’t the entire thing but it  _ damn _ sure felt like it – the aggression, the heat, the way it happened all at once, and Bruce cried out a guttural nonsense cry of pain and relief and need so strong he couldn’t deny it. He wanted this, wanted it so fucking  _ bad _ – wanted someone to want him this way, if only for a minute, even if it was only Tony. 

He could hear Tony moaning around his dick, sloppy and inefficient but worshipping that dick in his mouth more than anyone ever had before. And Bruce could hear the slaps of Tony’s fist on his own dick as he tried to come, wanted it just as fucking badly as Bruce did. He couldn’t help it, one of his hands was pulling at Tony’s short hair, pinning his dick in his mouth in a way Betty always hated but Tony was crying these sweet muffled peals of pleasure as he swallowed around his dick, slick and wet and Bruce was going to come –  _ fuck _ but he was so fucking  _ close  _ but it was so damn hard when he was so damn drunk but it hurt and he  _ wanted _ it, he  _ needed _ it, and my God, he prayed, just fucking  _ get him there _ ! Get him to where he needed to be so he could  _ fucking _ – 

And when he came he couldn’t control himself, his whole body constricted but he managed to let go of Tony’s head, trying hard not to startle Tony as he choked on it, sputtering and swallowing, cum and spit on his chin as he pulled away, breathing hard. Tony was cursing as Bruce lay there watching him in the aftershock, him running his chin against his shoulder, sweat beading down his face, his dick hard and dark in the low light, his hand fast against it. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” Tony begged, his eyes slammed shut, his fist speeding up in the very last moment as cum spilled over his fingers and he sunk bodily into the bed in front of him, moaning out this long, low moan that made Bruce’s nerves jump even though he was completely and utterly spent. 

For a long few minutes there was nothing but the sound of their labored breathing and the air conditioner to fill the room. Bruce shrugged out of his pants, letting them fall to the floor, crawling across the bed to his side so that Tony could climb in. He didn’t even get under the covers, he just lay there in his shirt on his stomach with his legs spread, feeling satiated in a way that couldn’t have embarrassed him even if he weren’t drunk. 

The room was spinning and he closed his eyes and he could feel Tony crawl into bed next to him, flopping down unceremoniously, but that was the last thing he could remember before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is why I never get to use the slow burn tag. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also, I know a lot of people write Bruce sober. Sometimes I do too. But as the child of an abusive alcoholic with many, MANY alcoholics in my family, this experience is more true to my own personal experience. I spent a lot of my early twenties finding my line with alcohol and creating my own experience where I could enjoy it without fear and negativity. So please don't feel like I am minimizing alcoholism by having them drink. Everyone's coping mechanisms and experiences are individual and their own and are valid but just know I've actually given it a lot more thought than can be expressed in one 90k fic. <3


	7. Wednesday, December 26

When Bruce woke up the next morning the whole room was still spinning and he fumbled his way to the bathroom to throw up. Almost immediately he felt better – a little head-achey and dehydrated but not bad, thankful for the genetics that rarely left him with a true hangover. And as he stood there brushing his teeth he chided himself on not eating more, not drinking more water to avoid this result, internally rolling his eyes at himself that he managed to get off his pants but not his shirt before crashing last night. 

Last night...

His mouth slackened and he withdrew the toothbrush from his mouth, not sure if he was going to be sick again as the events of the night before rushed back over him suddenly. Beef carpaccio and dancing with Shayla, the Lyft back to the hotel and fireworks on the beach, running through the parking deck and the glass in his foot – still sitting in the soap dish, watered down blood dried beneath it – and Tony... Oh,  _ God _ , Tony...

Bruce spit toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, his body shaking from humiliation and fear and how could he  _ let Tony do that _ ...

He was stuck down here in Florida with him, no where else to go, and what was he going to do? How was he going to explain this? Sorry Tony, I was drunk and I just really needed to get fucked but I’m not into you? 

And Christ, he couldn’t even imagine what Betty was going to say. She absolutely disdained that kind of inhibition but how could he just not tell her?

He stumbled out of the bathroom, looking for a pair of pants so he could at least slip out onto the balcony, finding his in a discarded heap half under the bed. Tony was rubbing his eyes and groaning at being awake, reaching for his phone to check the time. The red numbers on the clock read 10:24 – much later than Bruce would have suspected – but he didn’t offer that to Tony. Instead he stood there like a deer in headlights, afraid to do anything, afraid to move for fear of drawing his attention. 

“Come back to bed,” Tony mumbled as he sat up, forcing himself into the bathroom. “It’s not time to get up yet.”

That was an absolutely preposterous thing to say given how late it was but Bruce found himself complying anyway. What was he going to do – argue? He could barely get his throat to move let alone his brain to recognize a word to put there. 

Gingerly he sat down in the bed, covering himself like an idiot with the comforter – like Tony wasn’t already closely acquainted with his dick – and waited in terror for Tony to return. He listened to him piss, brush his teeth, shuffle back into the room and to the mini fridge, amassing a few bottled waters before coming back to bed, throwing Bruce one. 

In the daylight he could see striated scarring on Tony’s thighs that he hadn’t any idea was there and for a minute it broke him out of his hysteria as he naively tried to figure out what that was about.

Cautiously he gulped down the proffered water. It made his stomach feel bad but he knew he needed it. Tony finished a bottle before flopping back into bed and Bruce sat, waiting, nerves on overdrive and Tony was just going to ignore this?

“Hey, you know, about last night,” he finally started after what felt like about ten small eternities but was probably closer to two minutes, face half buried in a pillow so that Bruce had to strain to hear it, “I just – I’m sorry.”

For some reason that Bruce couldn’t understand at all, that just made him feel worse. Tony was... sorry? Did Tony regret it? It was one thing for him – he wasn’t looking to do anything with anyone until he sorted shit out with Betty and certainly not with a man – but Tony? Would he have felt better to have gone back with one of the girls from the bar last night? Was Bruce  _ that _ undesirable? It seemed like Tony had wanted him – truly wanted him. He could remember in little bursts the searing feeling of his lips against his own. He could remember wanting it. He could remember – could remember feeling  _ good _ ... 

Somehow an apology just wasn’t what he  _ really _ wanted. 

“I got carried away,” Tony continued, voice weak and embarrassed and it made Bruce feel sick in an entirely different way. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. It wasn’t right. Really – I’m sorry. I – I won’t. Not again.”

And Bruce should have said something then, knew Tony was waiting for some kind of reply, probably desperate to hear Bruce say it was okay and that he forgave him and yeah, it wouldn’t happen again. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get his mouth to open, couldn’t force himself to say the words. Not when – not when what he wanted... 

What  _ the fuck  _ was wrong with him?

He was so frustrated he wanted to cry but he could only sit there paralyzed. What he wanted – What he fucking  _ wanted _ was for Tony to touch him again. Touch him again in a way that made him feel like someone wanted him, someone needed him, someone wanted to  _ be _ with him. And he was so desperate he didn’t care who it was – who fucking cared if it was Tony? Tony was – God, he spent the whole damn trip observing every one of Tony’s good qualities. How attractive he was, how charming, how easy it was for him, how he could have whatever he wanted. 

Who wouldn’t want to be wanted by someone who could have  _ anything _ they wanted?

But here was Tony, apologizing, acting as if it were wrong, as if he’d made a mistake, and once again Bruce was that fucking mistake. He always was. For Betty, for Tony – a big fucking fuck up you had to quickly blot out and forget about once you came to your senses. 

Tony was waiting and Bruce knew it but he was pretty sure he was going to start to cry. Christ, fuck – no wonder no one really wanted him. He was pathetic. His own father saw it from the very moment he entered this world, the nasty names he called him through his childhood reverberating in his head, and he couldn’t do it – he just couldn’t fucking suck it up and tell Tony that it was okay, that he was okay.

_ He wasn’t okay _ . 

“Hey,” Tony said softly, realizing it, realizing at last that this was something more than an apology and a quick sweep under the rug could fix and fuck if Bruce wasn’t thankful for that. “Hey, it’s okay.”

He was propping himself up on his elbow now, Bruce could see it out of the corner of his eye, trying to get a better look at him but Bruce couldn’t look back. His vision was blurry and he couldn’t handle it – he couldn’t fucking handle looking at Tony, looking at his face and telling him he was okay and telling him it was okay, it was fine, no big deal, nothing, nothing, he was nothing and he couldn’t say it, he just couldn’t say it. 

“I just – I thought,” Tony tried to say, tried to get some kind of feedback so he knew what Bruce wanted but Bruce couldn’t give him anything. 

Bruce was trembling, his jaw was trembling and he locked his teeth together so hard they hurt so Tony wouldn’t see it, see how pathetic he was, but he wanted to just burst into tears and sob into the pillow and finally let it all out, just let it all go. But Tony wanted something better than that and he had to keep it in, had to just get through this like he got through everything because Tony was there, right there and he – 

“We could also do it again, if that’s what you want.”

Bruce felt it like a knife through his heart and finally he turned to look at Tony. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like – he could feel tears start to roll down his cheeks, could feel his body shake with how much he wanted that, could feel his face contort in some kind of pained desire for nothing more. There was absolutely nothing more he wanted at that moment in the entire world than for Tony to touch him one more time.

Tony didn’t say anything else. Somehow – somehow he just  _ knew _ . And he sat up, scooting closer to Bruce. And tentatively he reached out a hand, reached out for him, grabbed his hand and held it, squeezing it, telling him that he was there, that it was okay. And slowly, carefully, trying not to startle him, he buried his face in Bruce’s neck. 

Just that – just that was enough to completely unravel Bruce and he sobbed. He hadn’t meant to, he was wound up so tight he thought – he desperately hoped – that he would be able to keep it in but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. One got out and he pressed his free hand to his mouth to try to stop it again but he couldn’t – he couldn’t get it to stop. 

Tony waited patiently, so patiently as Bruce tried to piece himself back together and when finally he was able to wipe his eyes without more tears overwhelming them and his body wracked by sobs had finally stopped shaking, Tony kissed him. 

It was just a little thing, his lips on his neck, but it was enough to send Bruce's tired and hungry and overworked body careening back off a cliff. All of him tensed up again, feeling the way Tony’s teeth nibbled into the sensitive flesh there, sucking at it, immediately making him hard. He could only sit there and focus on his breathing, trying to maintain control. Bruce was still scared – scared to want this, scared of what would happen, knew it was wrong, that he shouldn’t be letting Tony do this but also knowing, knowing, unapologetically knowing that this was what he wanted.

Tony worked his way down to his collarbone, tugging at the shirt Bruce still wore, asking silently for him to remove it, and he did. It fell to the floor and Bruce repositioned himself even closer to Tony, wanting to give him something – anything – but his hands were frozen and he couldn’t do anything but let Tony kiss at his neck, his collar, back up to his ear where his hot breath made Bruce sigh and shiver all at the same time. 

It was slow, careful – nothing like the night before. But that was okay. It was so fucking okay and Bruce focused on every nanosecond as Tony made his way from his ear around to his mouth. 

Bruce made it easy for him, turned his head, let his mouth fall open so pliantly, so eager to accept his kiss. And this kiss – this kiss was soft and wonderful and everything, everything Bruce needed. It was long and thorough and it was like Tony just couldn’t get enough of kissing him. It made him feel – fuck but it made him feel  _ fantastic _ . He could have kissed Tony all day like this and for a while he thought that maybe they might. Tony twirled his fingers in his hair, used his tongue across his lips, nipped at them, made him pant little glorious pants of absolute desire and finally, when he thought he might truly not be able to take any more Tony shifted and they repositioned so that they were lying next to each other, hip to hip, chest to chest, nose to nose, and he kept on kissing him. 

He could feel Tony’s dick hard against his own, could feel his breathing becoming more ragged as Bruce began to rock his hips needily against Tony’s. For his part, Bruce couldn’t help it. He wanted nothing more than to just kiss him, just kiss him until they physically couldn’t keep kissing any more but his body? His body wanted more. 

Finally Tony slipped his hand between their bodies and Bruce couldn’t take it as he ran his fingers over his balls, rolling them in his palm, dragging his hand up his dick with a quick, teasing tug. Bruce had been so reserved – as much as he could be – this whole time, but then he moaned this embarrassing moan, completely unable to control himself, and they laughed, flighty and sweaty and it felt good. God, oh God, it felt so  _ good _ ... 

Tony had his hand on them both, pressing their dicks together, slowly creating a friction there between them and his hand that was enough to make Bruce shake. He could feel Tony’s body retaliate – all the nerves jumping beneath the skin – his kissing growing sloppy as he grew more focused on getting them to come. 

“Tony,” he whispered against his lips, unable to stop himself from breathing out his name in appreciation of this. “Oh, Tony...” 

Tony’s eyes fell shut as he bit down on his lower lip and threw back his head, trying not to say anything at all. Bruce knew it must be hard for him as he slipped his mouth down Tony’s chin to his neck, kissing at the newly exposed salty skin. Bruce could hear this whiney little moan caught in Tony's throat as he tried to repress it, his hand painfully methodical, dragging them ever closer to teetering over the edge. But the sound of Tony moaning was making it real damn hard for Bruce to control himself and he just – he just – 

“Ohhh  _ fuck _ ,” he cried, feeling his orgasm like a full body experience, coating them in cum as it rolled over him, making his eyes fall closed and his toes curl. It felt so good – so damn good – and Tony was coming too, unable to stop himself as he experienced Bruce coming pressed up against him. 

“Bruce,” Tony panted, kissing him again, not really saying anything just wanting his attention, all of his attention, making Bruce feel like –  _ fuck _ – making Bruce feel like it mattered, like  _ he _ mattered. “Fuck –  _ Bruce _ .” 

Bruce chuckled as Tony threw his arm across his waist, holding them together and kissing at him lazily. He felt so damn good he couldn’t even believe – to have been able to cry without being judged, to have been touched like that, kissed like that, kissed for so long his lips were sore and swollen, to have come with Tony, pressed up against him, and he  _ still wanted to be there _ ... It was more than good. It was – it was – he didn’t even have words for what it was. It was perfect but it was more than perfect. It was everything. 

Tony’s eyes were shut but his mouth was on Bruce’s chin and Bruce was so blissed out and loose that he couldn’t even be assed to care and he closed his eyes as well, tucked up tight against Tony and without even meaning to, he fell asleep. 

Bruce knew it was late when he woke up again. Bleary eyes managed to make out the two on the clock over the hump of Tony’s body. He had turned over in his sleep and was snoring gently on his back and Bruce stared at him, ignoring how badly he had to take a piss. 

Objectively, he really was attractive. Bruce knew that. The gentle curves in his face, the dip in his neck, the way his muscles lay, his dark nipples and the hair running from his chest down his abs, the length of his limbs and just... everything.

_ What a fag. _

His father was whispering in his ear but Tony was really, physically  _ there _ and he was so... so kind, offering whatever he could give and never expecting anything in return – whether it was money, or... well. Other things.

_ Just a little bitch. _

He couldn’t think about this any more so he didn’t. Instead he rolled out of bed as quietly as possible and got a shower. It felt nice to let the hot water run down his body for a long time. It was the most expensive shower he had ever been in in his life by far – all jets in every direction and one of those rainfall ones over head. And even though he had a big bruise on his neck and his foot hurt and his muscles were sore from last night, Bruce’s whole body was relaxed in a way it hadn’t been in a long time and it felt good. It felt really good. 

When he got out he reapplied a bandage to his foot and dug through his bag for some boxers, walking back into the room to brew some coffee while drying his hair with a towel. 

Tony was trying to wake up as Bruce took a space on the couch, not really feeling coffee but needing to put something in his system. 

“I’ve got to get a shower,” Tony whined, throwing his arm over his eyes in devastation and Bruce laughed at his patheticness. 

“Then you’ve got to get us some food,” Bruce teased lightly and Tony made this ridiculous display of getting up out of bed for him and Bruce grinned, watching his bare ass disappear into the bathroom. 

Instead of dwelling on  _ that _ he decided instead to distract himself with his phone, which he had been intentionally neglecting since yesterday. Now, though, he felt like he could handle it. 

Pretty much his whole feed was full of pictures of his friends with their families and he was used to it – though it didn’t hurt so bad when he wasn’t at MIT alone eating ramen.

Pietro’s sister was cute and they did an obligatory shot in front of the Eiffel tower. Steve and Pep and Betty and all of them had their feasts and their families. She couldn’t be bothered to even text him Merry Christmas – but then, she also knew he hated Christmas so that couldn’t really count against her. Tony had posted a few pictures of him and the girls at the bar last night but for some reason he wasn’t expecting, it really didn’t bother Bruce. 

Instead he put on some clothes and stepped out onto the balcony, taking his own picture of the white sand beach and the arching palm trees and the endless blue sky and windswept white clouds. ‘Another day in paradise’ he typed, smiling to himself as he posted it, not caring if it pissed Betty off. For the first time he felt like he didn’t have to be down here suffering, thinking of everything he was missing with Betty. For the first time since they broke up, he felt okay.

“Anything interesting?” Tony asked as he came up behind him, stretching a shirt over his chest and looking over Bruce’s shoulder at his phone. 

Bruce shrugged, smelling Tony’s expensive cologne, making something feel funny in the pit of his stomach. “Not really. Christmas shit.”

Tony rolled his eyes and took the coffee cup from Bruce’s hand, finishing it. “You wanna go get something to eat or order in?” 

Bruce’s nose crinkled a little as he thought about ordering in. 

“The room smells like sex,” he admitted and Tony’s eyes widened in surprise, blushing bright red then turning and trying to hide it as he laughed. 

“Okay,” Tony called he walked back into the room. “But you need shoes.”

Somehow Bruce had forgotten about that entirely despite the way he was babying his tender foot.

“Shit, well...” he trailed off, following behind Tony but Tony just waved him off, slipping into his own shoes. 

“I think we have credit at the gift shop, I’ll go get you something,” he offered, flashing a smile back at him. “I’ll be right back.”

“Size ten!” Bruce called as the door fell shut and he poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down on the balcony, letting the warm sun and the lull of the waves distract him from how hungry he was.

It didn’t take Tony long and he was pretty amused by his purchase when he came back out to the balcony. 

“You’re not allowed to ask how much they cost,” he laughed as he threw the bag into Bruce’s lap. “And you’re not allowed to give me shit – it was literally all they had.” 

With no small amount of trepidation Bruce pulled from the bag a pair of... _ mesh _ shoes? They were black and looked a lot like Toms but they were black leather mesh and he started laughing, too. He really didn’t want to know what Tony paid for these. They were the most ridiculous non-shoes he had ever seen. 

“They’ll love these in Boston.” He slipped them on and although they truly looked ridiculous at least they were comfortable. 

“You can get some different ones in Boston,” Tony said, encouraging him to get up. “There’s a cleaning lady in the hall and I want to make sure she gets to our room.”

They grabbed their stuff and stepped out together, Bruce seeing that he was right, there was a cleaning lady in the hall just finishing up the room she was in.

“Señora!” Tony called, getting her attention before she closed the door to the room she was servicing. 

She looked over, clearly uncertain as to why this young white kid wanted her attention. Bruce wondered if Tony could see that or not.

“Um,” he faltered, “tu... limpiar room uno siete cuatro dos?” 

She glanced down the hallway at their room and nodded her head. “Sí, sí señor.”

“Ah, bueno!” he said, slipping her a twenty and blowing her a kiss with both hands as he walked backwards down the hall, leaving Bruce to try to catch up. “Gracias señorita!” 

She seemed somewhat bemused as she watched them walk away but truthfully Bruce was impressed. He could tell it wasn’t great, but he had no idea Tony knew even that much Spanish.

“It would be easier if we were in Italy,” Tony confessed as he hit the button for the elevator. “I’m much more fluent in Italian.”

“Next time you want to take me on an expensive trip...” Bruce joked and Tony cocked his head and looked at him, amusement and surprise evident in those wide, brown eyes and it kind of made Bruce blush – through he tried to swallow it back down and act cool. “Where’re we going to eat?” 

“Well I was thinking – there’s a bar a short walk from here that’s supposed to have good wings and pool tables and shit but we can get a Lyft if you don’t think you can walk it. Not sure how your foot is doing.”

“We can walk,” Bruce confirmed as they stepped out of the elevator and he followed Tony out of the hotel and down the street. 

It was a little weird just how not weird it was between them. It was actually more comfortable now, more like normal than it had been before, and Bruce was pretty sure that was why Tony kept reacting so strangely to him. And truthfully, Bruce didn’t know why he felt so much better, but he did. And he hoped Tony did too. 

The bar was pretty empty when they got there but then, it was still early for dinner. It was easy for them to get a pool table and high top table next to one, ordering beer and a copious amount of wings and fries. Bruce was pretty sure the wings were just okay but they tasted phenomenal to him. 

“ _ Fuck _ Peruvian ceviche,” he said through a mouthful of chicken and Tony laughed at him. “This is where it is at.”

“You’re such a cheap date,” Tony teased back and Bruce shrugged. 

“Not if you keep making me lose my shoes.”

They grinned and joked with each other, feeling even better with each bite. And they ordered more beer and got a pool table and Tony made a really bad joke about his balls being in Bruce’s pocket and Bruce jabbed him in the side with the butt of his pool cue. 

“Do I need to set up this shot for you?” Tony asked in an intentionally belittling way, moving in behind him just close enough that Bruce could feel him up against his back but not so close as to actually touch him and the anticipation of the touch made Bruce shiver and he didn’t understand how Tony could be so aware of just how to cause such a reaction in him. 

“I got it,” he bit back with a smirk, backing up into Tony so quickly he caught him completely off guard and Tony backed into the table, nearly knocking over their beer, and they laughed, a little drunk but more absorbed in each other’s energy. 

Actually, they were both rather good at pool, and cleared the table quite efficiently – with no help from Tony trying to rearrange the balls each time Bruce turned to take a swig of his drink. Bruce pointed out it wasn’t fair as he didn’t have a photographic memory like Tony and Tony pointed out that cheating wasn’t meant to be fair. 

Somehow they were so focused on their own game they were both completely surprised when another couple came up to them as it ended, obviously taken in by their energy. 

“How would you guys like a real challenge?” this blond, scruffy guy with a sly grin asked as Tony was refilling their drinks. “My own Black Widow ?”

The slim and attractive red headed woman behind him was rolling her eyes and bypassing him to reach out her hand instead. 

“It’s Natasha,” she introduced more formally. “And that idiot’s Clint. But yeah – we couldn’t help but notice how good you guys were.” 

“Well thank you,” Tony replied as he shook her hand. “I’m Tony.” 

“Bruce,” Bruce replied, taking her hand too, a little put off by his intimacy with Tony not only being interrupted but also having been observed. 

“We could definitely play a little two-on-two,” Tony replied, looking over at Bruce to see how he felt about it. “Right Bruce?” 

For his part Bruce just shrugged apathetically. It was selfish but... he wanted Tony to himself. But he also knew this whole trip was conceptualized by Tony so that he could have a good time and part of Tony having a good time was what Bruce considered gratuitous socialization – so he capitulated. What was he going to do? Say no? After everything Tony had done for him?

Instead of saying something snarky, Bruce buried his face in his beer as Tony reset the table. 

“You guys are on vacation too?” Clint asked as Natasha brought them back cues and Tony removed the rack. “We just got here today.”

“Oh yeah, we’ve been here since... Saturday?” Tony looked back to confirm with Bruce. 

“If you can call that a day,” Bruce mumbled back and Tony grinned. 

“It was late. It was a long drive.”

“New York?” Natasha pegged as Tony cracked the break shot and Bruce watched the balls wiz across the table.

Bruce always let Tony go first. He was better at it. 

“Manhattan born and raised,” Tony confessed as he stepped back to study the table he’d just created as Natasha appraised it coolly. 

“You don’t have much of an accent,” she confessed as she stepped to the side, setting up her shot. 

Tony shrugged as he sipped his beer. “It was pretty consciously trained out of me.”

She raised an eyebrow at him before turning back towards the table and quite deliberately and with a deftness he expected from friends but never strangers, pocketed two solids in her first shot. 

It wasn’t something he had ever thought much about – many of his rich friends were trained from a young age to have a neutral accent. But if you didn’t know how wealthy Tony was, it probably would seem strange. 

“I was born in upstate New York,” she said as she pushed her hair back over her shoulder, moving to the other side of the table to get a better look at her position. “We’re both from the north but moved to the Atlanta area when we were kids. You wanna try this one, Clint?”

He seemed reluctant to do so but she pointed out the shot for him. It was a pretty straight forward shot – so it really was clear who was the better pool player here.

“Never been to Atlanta,” Tony said and Clint laughed. 

“You’re not missing much.” 

Natasha frowned and shrugged a little in agreement, more focused on Clint setting up his shot, clearly nervous about it. But he managed to pull it off despite bad form, the cue ball just barely missing the pocket and giving Natasha no real easy shot to pull off from there. 

“He’s hateful but he’s from Amish-town Pennsylvania so,” she ragged and Clint picked up his own beer. 

“ _ So _ that should tell you how bad Atlanta is,” he continued as if it were obvious and Bruce actually found himself laughing at that.

“I’m from Ohio,” he offered. “I can’t imagine anywhere much worse than that.”

“Come to Atlanta,” Clint deadpanned as Natasha skillfully moved the ball into a shitty position for Bruce to play from. 

“So –” she asked, looking between them as Bruce moved to the table, “how do you guys know each other then?” 

“MIT,” Tony explained and Bruce didn’t catch her body language as he took a shot, just barely managing to sink the twelve and feeling quite proud of himself. 

“Math?” she asked as Bruce turned to Tony to trade off and he gave him a very personal smile and quietly murmured ‘good shot’ that made Bruce feel some kind of way he wasn’t expecting to feel. 

“Engineering,” Bruce replied as he stepped out of the way and she clicked her tongue in approval. 

“I graduated in Environmental Engineering from Georgia Tech two years ago,” she said as Bruce nodded and offered his own specialization and Clint rolled his eyes. 

“Y’all suck,” he muttered and she laughed. 

“Vet techs are important too,” she comforted in a rather mocking way that made Bruce laugh and Clint pout. 

But then Bruce’s eyes were on the table as Tony took his shot – unable to stop himself from a celebratory fist pump when he managed to sink two more balls by playing off the solids.

“Christ,” Clint sighed and Tony, already feeling the pitcher they were nearly through, punched him playfully in the arm as he passed.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to take another shot this game,” he teased and Bruce laughed, stepping up to analyze the table. 

He managed to pocket another but winced when he saw where the cue ball ended up. The trajectory was wrong, but he also knew Tony had pulled some pretty great shots in his time. 

“Sorry,” he said as they traded places.

Tony just shrugged and with a glint in his eyes, replied “I like a challenge.”

Bruce turned away so Tony wouldn’t see him blush and he was thankful for the coolness of the beer. Flirting with Tony was one thing – and frankly, a thing he couldn’t let himself think too much about without a rising sense of dread – but flirting with Tony in front of other people? It was entirely too much. Betty was so subdued – flirting really wasn’t in her repertoire. And that had never once bothered Bruce – in fact, he appreciated it. This was – this was overwhelming. 

Tony’s shot was good but there just wasn’t enough direct contact to move one of their balls into the pocket and he snapped his fingers, disappointed, as Natasha took back over the next move. He came back to stand next to Bruce, leaning back into the high top table with him, a little too close for friends, and for just a moment Bruce had the distinct impression that he wanted to kiss him. But thankfully he didn’t and Bruce just shook it off as his lack of social awareness as Tony lifted his glass. But Tony’s arm pressed up against his in this little display of companionship Bruce really didn’t think he misread. 

Natasha managed to pocket another of theirs, evening their position on the table. Clint stood there staring at it for a minute before turning back to them and pointing to the eight ball – 

“So if I get this one in, we can just lose this whole thing right here, right?” Clint asked with a knowing grin and Tony laughed.

“You can  _ try  _ that,” he offered good-naturedly and Clint laughed back.

“I gotta try  _ something _ ,” he muttered and Tony went over with Natasha to coach him a little.

Clint ended up missing the shot and Tony patted him on the back like the gracious winner he tried to be and wished him better luck next time but that if he wanted to lose, that was the best way to go about it. Tony motioned Bruce back to the table and he set down his beer to join them.

It was easy to sink the next shot and set it up well for Tony. Natasha made a face, but she was a good enough player to know what was coming. They were going to be hard pressed to let her get another shot.

Tony strode around the table with that annoyingly attractive bravado he possessed, setting up the next shot and sinking another one of their balls. Clint chugged back his beer in premature defeat. 

Bruce didn’t have a particularly good shot and he studied the table for a minute to figure out the path he had to take to sink their last ball, not willing to make another trajectory mistake in front of Tony. He cracked it hard and the cue ball had to hit the cushion four times but the feeling of satisfaction sinking that ball and having Tony give a loud, appreciative whistle at his success was definitely worth it.

“You want me to call this one?” Tony asked Natasha and she shrugged. 

“I could call that – left center pocket,” she replied indifferently and Tony laughed. 

“Don’t test me,” he teased, being a complete pain in the ass and shooting from behind his back, easily sinking it into the pocket Natasha called. 

But Tony always had a way of making it easy not to be too pissed at him for his showmanship so he was quick to offer – “I’m going to get us another pitcher – what are you drinking? I’ll get you one too.”

“Yuengling,” Clint replied gamely and Tony was off, Nat punching Clint in the arm and making him follow after Tony and pay for their own beer. 

“So how long have you guys been together?” she asked as Bruce tried not to choke on the last of his drink as he set his empty glass on the table. 

“Oh, we’re not together,” Bruce replied quickly and the look of blatant disbelief that she couldn't even attempt to hide made Bruce feel more than a little sensitive. 

Her eyes darted to his neck in a very pointed way and his fingers reached up to cover the hickey self-consciously.  

"It's just – it's not –" he tried, not able to find the words to explain what had happened between them and just how much of a not thing it actually was.

"What happens on Miami Beach stays on Miami Beach?" she offered with a smirk and he sighed with relief.

"Exactly. We've both just been through pretty bad break ups or... Well Tony, definitely, yeah, but I don't even know..." Bruce trailed off, suddenly experiencing a deep pang of guilt about how good he felt considering Betty could be up in DC feeling miserable. "But if anything it would be a rebound, and it's less than that."

Natasha nodded but her face betrayed a certain amusement he didn’t understand and it bugged him. 

“What?” he asked, uncomfortable with this kind of knowing scrutiny, and she just laughed – but he couldn’t question her about it any further because Tony and Clint were back.

They negotiated game conditions where Clint didn’t have to play and he was content to heckle them for any miss they made – which, the drunker they got the sloppier they got until it almost became a joke of what they were going to fuck up this time. Clint began to call their bad shots from the table and Tony made it a personal goal to get them all. Sometimes Natasha would look over at them with this certain look in her eye, but it was much easier to ignore with Tony there taking up so much space.

But the later it got the more crowded the bar got and it was pretty clear none of them were really interested in that scenario so they paid their tabs and wandered drunkenly out to the boardwalk. 

The night was blessedly cool compared to the sweaty humidity of the bar and Bruce tried not to get too down as his compatriots’ laughter was carried away on the breeze but there were these new friends of theirs and there was Tony and it was like he was suddenly thrust into an entirely different life. And this life? This life was pretty good – this artificial life where he didn’t have to think about his mother and Tony just paid for everything and flirted with him endlessly made him feel good. But then there was his other life, his  _ real _ life – with a thesis waiting to be finished and a lab job he hated and a dad getting out of jail soon and a mother who needed money and a girlfriend he didn’t even know still wanted him or cared and that made him feel terrible. It was all too easy to pretend that this good life was his while Tony was there sanctioning it, being so painfully charming, and he knew he couldn’t let himself fall into that trap. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t real, this wasn’t real... 

But Tony threw an arm around his shoulder and Clint’s and it was warm and heavy and he was singing something that was mostly just vowel sounds and Natasha was laughing and shushing him and he stopped all of a sudden and turned to Bruce and with the utmost sober and serious face he asked –  

“Do you think we might find your shoes?” 

And it was too hard not to capitulate. He threw Tony’s arm off of him, laughing. “But I love these new ones you bought me so much!” 

“I know you do you incorrigible scamp,” he said, tousling Bruce’s hair as Bruce stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell he was even talking about. 

“Are we even going in the direction of your hotel?” Natasha finally asked, laughing, and Tony nodded vigorously. 

“We’re at the W – my dad has an account,” he said, throwing his hand before him and waving it around. “It’s up there somewhere.”

“We’re next door at 1 Hotel,” Natasha offered, outwardly excited, something that didn’t seem characteristic of her from his general first impression. 

She definitely seemed to hold her alcohol better than any of them – but then Tony also must have drinken way more than he normally did. This level of drunk was a bit out of the norm for him. But then Natasha reached over Clint, who was still attached to Tony with his arm around his neck, and smacked him in the abs.

“We rented a cabana on the beach for lunch tomorrow – you guys should come.”

“Yeah!” Clint enthused. “You should totally come!”

“What time is lunch?” Tony asked, “because I like to sleep in.”

“We will totally come,” Bruce said out of nowhere, rolling his eyes at Tony when he should have been rolling them at himself. He  _ never _ made a unilateral decision like that – especially not one that involved socializing with people he didn’t really know.

Natasha had moved over to the other side of him, requesting Bruce’s phone and they slowed way down as she entered her number in and sent a text from his to her own phone.

“He’s so into you,” she whispered entirely too loudly as she handed back his phone and Bruce blinked in surprise.

Tony was way too far ahead to hear her and he was back to singing with Clint now joining him in a duet but Bruce wasn’t even sure he’d heard her correctly.

“Tony,” Natasha giggled. “He’s  _ so _ into you.”

“No, no he just –” he tried to interject but she wouldn’t let him.

“You think he’s not, but he  _ isss _ ,” she said, drawing it out teasingly.

Bruce wanted to argue, wanted to explain the thing he was just thinking when they left the bar – that this was the fake life, the pretend life, the life that didn’t exist, and even if it might have seemed like Tony was into him, it wasn’t true, and as soon as they left Tony would see it too. And even if Tony wanted to stay there forever, continue to live in the lie, like he said he did on the way down, eventually he had to leave. Eventually he had to come back to the truth.

But what he wanted to say didn’t matter because they were close to the hotel and she was running ahead to catch up with Clint and Tony, her hair whipping behind her in the wind and Bruce just sighed, increasing his pace to catch up with them.

“I got Bruce’s number,” Natasha was explaining to Tony who was definitely about ready to check out of all conversation completely. “I’ll text him tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes,” Tony said, focusing entirely too hard on it. “Lunch! We’ll do lunch.”

Tony released Clint’s neck and let him go to Natasha in front of the W Hotel and Bruce watched as they continued on to theirs, hand in hand. Bruce hated to admit how much he wanted to reach out for Tony then, grab his hand in his own and walk up to their room like that. But Tony was on a completely different plain and he didn’t notice and Bruce knew that it was better that way – better not to buy into the lie.

It was about all Tony could do to strip down to his boxers before falling into bed. Bruce at least managed to get the laundry Tony had ordered off the bed before he did so, stripping down himself and laying down on his side, watching Tony’s eyelashes flutter and his chest move slowly up and down – restless thanks to the alcohol. And in that quiet moment, watching his best friend, Bruce’s heart ached because he finally let himself admit that Tony  _ was _ beautiful. And not just objectively. Personally, on every level, Bruce knew in his heart of hearts – he thought Tony was beautiful. And it was hard not to hate himself for that.

“C’mere big guy,” Tony mumbled out, throwing out his arm and smacking Bruce right in the face.

But Bruce laughed, washed in relief so strong it was painful all through his gut and his chest that he was going to get to touch Tony again. Tony slurred out an apology for hitting him but Bruce didn’t even care, he just slid up right against him, curling up there and pillowing his head on his chest. It felt so good, so fucking good, and slowly Tony’s lazy drunken fingers began stroking at his hair and there was no place he’d rather be in the whole world than in Tony’s arms at that moment. He would have to deal with it tomorrow but right then? All he wanted was for this to be real life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a professional pool player named Jeanette Lee who’s friends nicknamed her the Black Widow and that became her stage name. Obviously I couldn’t just not make the reference. ;-)


	8. Thursday, December 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o, this is a trigger warning!
> 
> This is the chapter where the suicide attempt and cutting is discussed. It's not a current attempt, it's an attempt from Tony's past, and it's not particularly explicit (in my opinion.) But still, read with the caution if this is a triggering topic for you. <3

Bruce felt Tony shift next to him, could tell the sun was up and blazing in their room since they’d forgotten to close the blinds, but when he opened his eyes it was all Bruce could do not to immediately whimper. 

He was a little woozy from the night before but not as bad as yesterday morning and he was fully aware that when they’d gone to bed Tony was wearing his boxers but now they had been discarded and he was just laying there on his back, casually playing with himself, long fingers of his other hand splayed out across his chest, not even really looking at or seemingly thinking about Bruce. 

Bruce had turned over at some point in the night and so he never noticed Tony get up, though he must have. But now, staring at his friend rolling his hard dick in his hands, Bruce’s morning wood was begging to be touched. 

Then he really did groan as he forced himself up and away from Tony and into the bathroom. There was no way he was going to be able to enjoy anything about that before taking a piss and brushing his teeth and so he did both as quickly as possible, trying not to feel ashamed of that, shedding his own boxers with some kind of intent he really didn’t want to focus on and leaving them pooled on the bathroom floor. 

When he made it back to bed Tony looked over and flashed him a grin and Bruce couldn’t help the way it made his face feel and he buried it in the pillow instead, trying to ignore the way his stomach tilted and his heart skipped a beat. Tony reached out for him, brushing the hair out of his face and rolling over enough to brush his lips against Bruce’s, warm and inviting and Bruce sighed into that faintest of kisses, immediately rock hard again and wanting his touch. 

But instead Tony rolled back over and continued to stroke himself, a little less playfully this time, a little more pointed, and Bruce’s hips rocked slowly in the sheets as he watched him. 

Bruce was waiting for something from Tony – some kind of touch, some kind of kiss,  _ something _ – but Tony completely withheld. It confused him but he went with it – it wasn’t like watching Tony wasn’t fucking  _ hot _ . It was just that...

There was something a little perverse about masturbating with your best friend – even, Bruce supposed, if said friend had maybe given you a blowjob and jerked you off before. He certainly had never masturbated in front of anyone before – a task he relegated to the most private of venues, especially in a college dorm full of other guys just looking for an excuse to embarrass you. Especially with a girlfriend who made it clear she wasn’t interested in ever hearing about what you did with yourself if she wasn’t around. Especially with an abusive father just looking for a reason to fuck with you. 

But Tony was just so damn hard to resist and he could feel his dick straining against the bed, wet with precum at the minute friction he was creating, the desire to simply fuck his hips into the bed like a wet dream overwhelming. He was painfully embarrassed to touch himself but he didn’t know how much more he could take. 

Bruce had never really played with himself before either – not like that. It was always fast, efficient. But Tony made a whole show of it – running his hand down his neck to rub a thumb hard over his own nipples, arcing his hips to show off how big he was as his fist reached his base, reaching down under his balls and rolling them in his hand... It was more than Bruce could take. He was just going to have to suck it up. His hips were jerking back and forth in rhythm to Tony’s hand and he had to look even more ridiculous like this than he would look simply stroking himself off. 

Finally he turned over onto his back and took his own dick in his hand, panting out moans of relief that were quite a bit louder than he would have liked to finally have it touched. 

Tony chuckled, but it wasn’t unkind. Through heavy lidded eyes Bruce could see Tony’s dick flare with each sound he made and that made him want to make more just to know he had that power over him. 

“Hey,” Tony breathed out, sliding a little closer to him so he could reconnect their lips, a little more forceful than before, a little more needy, and Bruce was more than willing to give that to him, feeling an acute sense of relief that Tony had reached out to him again. 

It was impossible not to speed up while Tony was kissing him and Tony definitely noticed, his breathing changing against Bruce’s mouth, words forming against his lips. 

“Oh fuck, yeah,” Tony breathed, “ _ faster _ ....”

But unfortunately for Tony, this is where Bruce realized he could really excel given his extremely limited experience and instead he changed his pace to something painfully monotonous and when Tony realized he figured it out, he threw his head back into the pillow and groaned. 

It made Bruce grin a little, licking the sweat from his upper lip, as he reigned in his own orgasm to tease Tony. 

“Bruce,” he panted quietly, so quietly, like a shared confession, as he scooted even closer until his arm was tucked up against Bruce’s side and their hips were touching and he could feel the way Tony’s rolled into his hand, so elegant and so sexy and so fucking Tony. “Fuck Bruce – I wanna see you cum.” 

Something in Bruce’s stomach went all weird and he bit down a moan and to his absolute surprise it was completely clear to him in that moment that he wanted that too – he really,  _ really _ wanted Tony to watch him come. 

He sped up a little, hearing in Tony’s uneasy breathing how that was affecting him. And for his part, Tony egged Bruce on by moaning a little louder, a little laundry list of curse words spilling out under his breath, making it hard for Bruce to maintain any kind of control. 

Bruce’s free hand was balled in a fist in the sheets between them and he wanted to warn Tony that he was close but at the same time he was mortified and he couldn’t make his throat say the words. He didn’t know how Tony could fumble out everything under the sun. 

“Come,” he was begging, had to know it was close with how swollen and dark Bruce’s head was. “I wanna see –  _ fuck _ – I want you, I want you to come.”

All Bruce could do was make this strangled little sound as he came, cum spilling over his hand, harder and hotter than any time he had masturbated before, his stomach clenching as Tony breathed out “yes, yes,  _ fuck _ !” and finally coming himself. 

For a while they just lay there together in the progressively cooling air, breathing evening out, relishing in the aftershock and the pillowy sheets and the bright sunlight. But eventually Tony removed his arm from across his face and got up to go to the bathroom, spending a few minutes in there before coming back with a warm, wet washcloth for Bruce. He threw it into his lap and laughed as Bruce jolted in surprise. 

“Thanks,” he shot back sarcastically, wiping himself down and getting up to put the cloth in the bathroom. 

When he came back Tony was stretched out in bed with the remote in his hand, flipping through channels absentmindedly. Bruce picked up his phone and sat down with him, checking to see if Natasha had messaged him. It seemed like Tony’s head was in the same place. 

“They were cool, right? Natasha and Clint?” he asked with his eyes still affixed to the TV.  

“Umhmm,” Bruce hummed as he skimmed through notifications. “I really liked them.” 

“So you want to go?” 

“If she messages me.” 

They lapsed into silence again for a minute and Bruce fought the urge to lean his head against Tony’s shoulder. Instead he ended up focusing on the scarring on Tony’s thighs, the TV rambling about soft boiled eggs, then congress, then the angle of a circular saw. He knew he shouldn’t ask even though he was intensely curious. But he must have been staring more at Tony’s thighs than his phone than he thought because Tony flinched. 

“What?”

Tony’s voice was caustic and he was getting out of bed and Bruce immediately felt defensive and he hated that he was naked. 

“Take a good fucking look,” he shouted, standing naked in front of the bed, gesturing to his thighs, and the sudden change in atmosphere was alarming and terrifying and Bruce’s face was burning and he couldn’t have forced himself to look even if Tony had physically jerked his face and held it there. 

Tony stalked around the room for his boxers, throwing them on, incoherent muttering coming out of his mouth in growls and Bruce had sunken so far inside himself in fear he couldn’t focus on anything but self preservation. It was like being snapped back in time to when he was four, six, ten and his dad was suddenly screaming at him, kicking a chair across the room,  _ you fucking idiot! _ He knew better than to ask – why did Tony have to notice? He wasn’t even really staring, not really, his mind was a million miles away. He didn’t  _ mean _ it. But he knew – knew it in his gut, in his psyche, in his bones –  _ knew _ from years of formative experience, it would only be a matter of moments before Tony’s fist was in his face and he was going to deserve it. He shouldn’t have stared, he should have known better, he shouldn’t have – 

But Tony was just huffing out defensive posturing and finally he muttered out, “like he’s never seen self-harm scars” before he walked into the bathroom, slamming the door.  

For some reason his brain managed to pick up on that and in the absence of Tony’s physical presence, Bruce started to relax. 

It took a while for his heart rate to return to something like normal and as he came down from the sudden, gripping fear of being hurt he realized how ridiculous it was to assume Tony was going to hurt him like  _ that _ . Okay, yeah, he did throw a punch before, they fought on the highway in Boston, but Bruce had truly egged him on, practically asked for it. Tony wasn’t going to hurt him – he was just hurt. Self-harm scars? Honestly no, he had never seen them like that. An occasional few on the arm of an acquaintance – sure. But that kind of banding, methodical and voluminous and hidden on his thighs? That was something Bruce really had  _ never _ seen before. 

Bruce dug through the clean laundry, throwing on a shirt and his own pair of boxers while he gave Tony some time to calm down too. With time to think, Bruce was self-aware enough to realize it was the unexpectedness of Tony’s reaction that had thrown him back through time. Tony didn’t know how deep his scars were, just like Bruce hadn’t know how sensitive Tony was about his. If Tony had known.... Well. He wouldn’t have reacted that way. If Bruce had not been so fucking dumb as to not realize them for what they obviously were, he wouldn’t have stared. Tony could understand that, right?

After another measured minute he turned off the TV, going to the bathroom door and knocking lightly. 

“Tony?” he called gently when he didn’t get an answer, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. “Hey – can we talk?”

He was sure Tony heard him so he gave him a minute. But as time ticked by he grew more and more concerned and he didn’t want to  _ say _ that and drive Tony even further into his hole but he didn’t want to not hear from him either and Bruce’s anxiety was quickly hitting a wall that was not going to be conducive to either of them. Nothing would stop him from breaking down that door if he felt like he had to and he  _ really _ didn’t think that was what Tony needed right then. 

Finally, to Bruce’s immeasurable relief, the door opened and Tony stood there, breathing hard, eyes red and pupils blown out and despite the long drive and disgusting amounts of alcohol and choking on his dick, for the first time on this trip Tony actually looked absolutely wrecked. Bruce’s eyes swept the bathroom to see Tony’s toiletry bag laying open across the sink with the contents disheveled and Bruce’s throat felt heavy because he could only imagine what was going through Tony’s mind. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized immediately, no sense of pride to hold him back on this. He was a fucking idiot. “I really – I didn’t know. I know that sounds fucking stupid, but I didn’t. And I’m sorry. Come on – come back to bed.”

Tony’s chest was heaving and Bruce could tell he  _ really _ didn’t want to but at long last he started moving. Bruce was encouraged by this and he let Tony take the bed and stare soberly into the wall, his legs tucked up against his chest and arms wrapped around them, his face buried in his knees. For his part Bruce did the only thing he could think of to do and brewed some coffee. Tony was just starting to ease up as he brought him a cup with an indecent helping of rum added for good measure. 

His eyes were guarded as he took it but he did, taking a sip and immediately making a face. 

“Christ,” Tony mumbled into the mug, “who taught you to mix a drink?” 

Bruce was actually happy to hear his ragging even though it was just on this side of mean, but he didn’t take the bait. He didn’t want to joke right now and he didn’t want to play the pain olympics with the truth – no one whose parents would drink a bottle of vodka straight knew how to mix a drink.

But unfortunately Bruce didn’t really know  _ what _ to say. He was the one who wanted to talk, but Tony looked sore all over and he didn’t know what would trigger him. So he sat uncomfortably on the couch with his own coffee, trying both not to ignore Tony and not to stare, his mind screaming at him that he had to say  _ something _ but giving him no clues as to what that might be.

“Can you – can you  _ come here _ ?” Tony asked at last, seeming incredibly uncomfortable and embarrassed, his voice high and anxious, and Bruce tried not to feel the relief he felt at having Tony sort this out for him. Again. It was so far from fair. 

But in response he complied quickly, sitting down on the bed next to Tony, not close enough to touch but close enough to let him know he was there and Tony stared into his cup like it was going to start spouting off particle physics problems. Bruce wished it could tell him the secret to what he should say in situations like this. 

“I started when I went to boarding school,” Tony began slowly, refusing to look at Bruce or acknowledge him in any way. “It was... I’ve always had depression, but it was real bad then. It should have been better, to get away from my folks, but they sent me to an all boys prep school and it was... terrible.”

Tony took a deep shuddering breath and it was all Bruce could do to listen. 

“I’d always had girls around, you know – I could hang out with them and flirt with them; I always got along better with girls than I did with guys anyway. But without girls around...” he swallowed hard. “Without girls around it became impossible for me to ignore how I felt about guys.

“You know what your rich, asshole of a dad hates even more than a smartass kid who never worked to apply himself and doesn’t give a shit about the family business? A gay one of those.”

Bruce’s heart went out to Tony. He didn’t want to interrupt him – but God. If his dad had found out he'd screwed around with Tony he would have gone fucking ballistic, even now, even when he was twenty-two and several states away. It was something he absolutely never let himself consider because the risk wasn’t worth it. He was attracted enough to women to be with them, so why go there? If he was bisexual, why try to figure it out?

“I was miserable. I mean... I didn’t feel miserable so much as I felt absolutely nothing. I was just... done. I didn’t have anything left to give. Cutting was... it was the only thing that helped me feel okay, like I had any control over my life. I was so careful to keep it hidden because the idea of my dad finding out, confronting me, discovering I was into guys too – it literally made me want to die. I thought about it  _ all _ the time. I would sit in the shower stall in the middle of the night bleeding and crying into my hands and trying to make sure no one heard me. This went on for, like, a year or two.”

“Fuck,” Bruce muttered and he felt like he couldn’t breathe as Tony recounted this story to him and he knew, he knew so intimately, what it felt like to feel that alone. 

One of Tony’s hands fell to the bed, flexing open, and Bruce did watch that, watched the way it presented itself to him and carefully, slowly, softly Bruce slid his hand into Tony’s, squeezing it in solidarity. 

“Then, during junior year? I actually got a boyfriend and – fuck. It was fucked up, we were both majorly depressed and neither one of us were open about what we were, but at least I had him. And it was pretty innocent, you know – a little bit of kissing in the library when no one else was there, holding hands under the lunch table, fuck – the most we ever did was grind against each other a little bit in the locker room once after everyone else left. But he came back from winter break and he wouldn’t even look at me. To this day I don’t really know what happened. Then it was even worse.”

Tony stopped talking for a long time after that and Bruce wasn’t sure he was going to continue. But he was still holding his hand, tight, and so Bruce held it back and waited, his hand tight against Tony’s too. 

“My grades were abysmal,” Tony said at last, staring at the ceiling, looking like he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I had no friends, or at least I didn’t feel like I did, my boyfriend wouldn’t talk to me, my dad was constantly calling me and threatening to cut me off, it was just – fuck. I haven’t told anyone this in so long.”

Bruce licked his lips, his whole mouth feeling dry and his chest heavy because he knew what was coming but he didn’t want to hear Tony say it. 

“They got to me before I jumped, obviously,” he said and Bruce felt his jaw tremble. “My dad was out of town – even then I didn’t want to inconvenience him with my death and I figured he wouldn’t have to go to the funeral if he was out of town on business.” Somehow Tony was chuckling about that but Bruce felt like he was going to be sick. “He didn’t come home, so I guess I was right, but I stayed with my mom for a few weeks as they loaded me up on different medications. I ended up telling her about it, you know, being bisexual, and she was so okay with it – she said she’d talk to him but I don’t think my dad knows to this day.

“It doesn’t matter though – things got a little easier then, on medicine and all, and it was easier to stop cutting. My focus and my grades improved a little and then, man, going to college? A plus experience, ten out of ten – would recommend.” Bruce could tell he was trying to lighten the mood and he chuckled with him, even though it was majorly forced.

“I had a freedom I never had before – no one watching over my shoulder, breathing down my neck. If I failed a class it was on me. And I met so many people who were really, truly, genuinely smart. People who were interested in the intersection of science and gender and sexuality, who were hedonists, who were artists, who were liberals, who cared about shit no one else in the whole world cared about or even heard of and I just.... I fucked so many guys. So. Many. Guys.”

He was kind of grinning this soft, nostalgic kind of grin and Bruce hated the icy pit forming in the bottom of his stomach when he heard that. It wasn’t fair to Tony, either. Tony wasn’t his, never had been, never would be. He didn’t even  _ want _ him like that. If Tony wanted to fuck other guys, or the fact that Tony  _ had _ fucked other guys – it didn’t mean anything to Bruce. It shouldn’t. 

“And then there was Pepper and she just...” 

He sighed and his face fell. He tried to draw his hand away but Bruce just gripped it harder. It was the only thing he could do for him and Tony easily relented. 

“She consumed me completely. She’s smart and funny and arrogant in her own right. She never let me get away with my shit and we fought all the time and I loved every minute of it. I thought, you know, there was nothing we couldn’t get through. I went off my meds and I felt better than ever. But now?”

Bruce felt an unbelievably deep pang of guilt. Tony had seemed so... okay? Or maybe he had just been too self absorbed to see it, wanting Tony to take care of him, carry him through his shitty break-maybe-break-up. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Tony was struggling, it was like he just... didn’t care. That wasn’t true, he did care, but the optics made him feel like a real fucking ass. 

“I went back on, you know, the meds, after the...” his breath came out all weird and stuttering, “abortion. But it’s just – hard. I’m not doing well. And I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Tony,” Bruce said, voice sad, so much he wanted to say but he didn’t know how. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve just... I shouldn’t have made you so uncomfortable.”

He heaved out a sigh and took his hand back to rake it through his hair, pulling at the front a little bit. “You just don’t –” 

Tony was interrupted by Bruce’s phone and they both stared at it, completely forgetting about anything other than their conversation and each other, but he picked it up and read the screen. 

“It’s Natasha – she says they’re going to be over there in an hour.”

Tony nodded, staring off, but not giving any indication of what he wanted to do. Bruce really wasn’t sure he could handle socializing – had he been in Tony’s position there would have been  _ no way _ he was going to get through a few hours on the beach with people who were mostly strangers. 

“Do you still want to go?” he asked when it became clear Tony wasn’t going to say anything. “I can back out if –”

“Oh, yeah, we’ll go,” he said absent-mindedly and with no small amount of hesitation, Bruce texted back that they’d be there and set the phone back down to focus on Tony again. 

But now it was like there was a wall between them Bruce had literally no idea how to take down. He could divulge more about himself – but it wasn’t the same and he didn’t want it to come off as whiny. He could try to figure out what Tony had been going to say – but he didn’t want to pry. There wasn’t much of anywhere to go from there but then Tony was standing and he grabbed his swim trunks and went into the bathroom.

He was only in there a moment to change and Bruce realized with a sinking kind of sadness that he had unwittingly broke something between them and now Tony was self-conscious. Bruce really didn’t want Tony to be self-conscious around him. Not because of him. 

And worse, Bruce had to watch him walk out onto the balcony with his phone and close the sliding door, leaving him inside, alone. 

Bruce sat there on the bed, feeling completely rejected, and he didn’t even blame Tony, but his ribs still ached and his face still throbbed and he could still see the blood on his fingers from a split lip and it wasn’t like he didn’t have scars too. He just... It was different for him. He knew it. There was always one thing looming over it all and no matter how low he got, how bad things were, and how much he wanted to die – he couldn’t leave his mother.

He lay there for an indeterminate amount of time feeling sorry for himself when he finally heard the door slide back open and Tony come back in. 

“You gonna get up and get ready?” Tony asked and Bruce looked over his shoulder at him. 

Tony was wearing a grin and an expectant look on his face and Bruce nearly did a double take. It was like nothing had changed at all – he had somehow tucked all those tender, bleeding pieces neatly back into himself like it never happened. It was... disconcerting. Bruce didn’t like it. But he did get up and put on his swim trunks in the bathroom, privately, like Tony had, and followed after him out to the beach. 

Their hotel really was next door so it didn’t take long to walk up the beach to where Natasha and Clint’s cabana rental was. They both greeted them with waves and smiles and Bruce felt like an impostor but he took a seat on the far side of Tony anyway and let the other man order him a drink. 

The cabana was beautiful, just like out of a magazine – a four post structure with billowing sheets and an oversized wicker couch beneath it that could easily function as a bed, the far left and right side longer, so long that they completely flanked an ottoman that could be pushed in as a leg rest or pulled out as a table. Yesterday he would have loved to have Tony’s arm around his shoulders as they lay there watching the ocean. Today that seemed like the dumbest thought he’d ever had. 

Tony picked out some plates with Natasha and Clint, Bruce waving away their requests for his input. He was hungry but it was difficult to imagine eating. He looked at his phone, considered messaging Betty. This all just felt weird. 

Whatever Tony ordered him to drink was actually pretty good – some kind of mixed drink that was not too sweet but not too dry or too bubbly either – and he set his phone down to focus on it and the waves. The beach really wasn’t that bad. If there was one good thing about being here, it was that he knew that now. He wouldn’t have to dread it any more. 

“Have you been to Miami Beach before?” Tony asked and Natasha shook her head. She looked remarkably cute in a plain black suit with a ruffled cold-shoulder top. 

“Nah,” Clint replied. “It just seemed like a good place to go in the winter.”

“This isn’t typically our kind of vacation,” Natasha confessed. “We prefer camping in the Outer Banks.”

“Camping can be considered a vacation, hm?” Tony asked with a convivial laugh. “Learn something new every day.”

“We had to leave our dogs at home,” Clint confessed, clearly disappointed. “What’s a vacation if you can’t bring your dogs?” 

Bruce wasn’t a big fan of dogs, but he didn’t say anything.

Natasha was showing Tony a picture of them on her phone so obviously, they really had a thing for those dogs. 

“This is pretty nice though,” Natasha admitted. “The water is gorgeous here. I bet you can see all kinds of shit from one of those.”

She was talking about a sailboat out fifty feet from the shore and, much to Bruce’s surprise, Tony just nodded his head. Usually you couldn’t get him to shut up about that shit.

“Tony sails,” Bruce offered, turning to look at them for the first time. “He’s great at it. He’s captain of the Varsity team.”

“Oh, that’s awesome,” Natasha enthused, seemingly truly impressed, though Tony for his part just kind of shrugged like it was nothing, strangely humble considering it was something Bruce knew he loved. 

“MIT has a Varsity sailing team?” Clint asked, clearly amused, and Natasha punched him in the arm. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Tony replied, waving it away. Bruce wasn’t sure he had  _ ever _ seen Tony deflect attention from himself so bluntly before. 

“It  _ is _ a big deal,” Bruce argued back, looking at Tony though he wouldn’t look back at him. Tony had to be surprised though – Bruce had surprised himself with the fervor he put into defending it. “You could single-handedly give us a tour of the whole damn coast on that thing there that doesn’t even have an engine in it like it was nothing.”

He could feel Tony tense next to him, still refusing to look at him, and frankly it was pissing him off. 

“Could you? Really?” Clint was asking and Natasha’s interest was obviously piqued. “We see them all the time up in OBX and we keep considering taking lessons.”

Bruce was still watching Tony pointedly but he could see it then, the smallest change, like Tony was beginning to unfurl and he looked from Clint to Natasha and finally to Bruce. 

“You guys would be interested in that?” he asked carefully, addressing it to them all but paying special attention to Bruce’s reaction. 

“Hell yeah,” Clint said as Natasha replied at the same time, “absolutely.” 

For his part, Bruce nodded his head too, looking at him optimistically, wanting him to know that yeah, even scared as he was of the ocean, he would absolutely get on a rickety little sail boat if Tony was in charge. 

“I mean,” Tony said, far more modest than normal, “I could certainly show you the ropes.”

Bruce knew that was an intentional sailing joke so he chuckled despite how dumb it was just to buoy Tony’s confidence.

“I wonder if there is a place I could rent an  unchartered  boat around here...” Tony mused, pulling out his phone to start a search. “Tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow would be fine but – is that expensive?” Natasha asked cautiously but Tony just waved it away like it was nothing.

Bruce was more than aware how disconcerting that could be when you weren’t used to being around people who were as wealthy as Tony, especially because she literally had no idea he was heir to Starktech Pharmaceuticals, and her eyes kind of tried to subtly peer over Tony while he was on his phone to get Bruce’s reaction. He pulled out his own phone, looking at it pointedly before sending her a text. 

_ Don’t worry about it. Seriously. He’s got it. _

Bruce wanted to explain more than that because he knew from personal experience that sometimes it helped to know just what kind of rich guy you were dealing with but he also didn’t want to break Tony’s confidence, especially not with how awkward it was between them right then, so he didn’t. 

It took Tony a few phone calls and a bit of wheedling to convince them he was more than capable but he finally found a place that would let him take a boat out solo for the day on such short notice. While he was on the phone the wait staff brought out an elaborate selection of sushi. Bruce didn’t know what the fuck it was with the beach and rich people and raw food, but at least he’d learned to like sushi along the way – if he wasn’t paying for it.

“We can bring lunch and drinks tomorrow,” Natasha was saying as they hammered down plans and Tony was sort of easing back into something more like himself, clearly excited about the prospect. He had a map out on his phone and was explaining that as long as the wind was cooperating, they would go down through the bay and back up the coast and check out any little islands they found along the way. 

“The bay is much more chill then the coast,” he was explaining. “They’re both  _ great _ , it’s just a different experience.”

Bruce was starting to relax a little as Tony did, shoving a large piece of sushi in his mouth appreciatively. Even Bruce was aware that it was strange how much he enjoyed watching Tony eat. It was nothing he had ever thought much about as a kid – happy to get the occasional bowl of blue box mac n cheese. He was completely overwhelmed by the immediate access he had to such a variety of food as he did when he showed up in Boston. People were going out for sushi, Indian, Thai, Vietnamese. A ground beef taco was about as experienced as his palette was with ‘foreign’ foods.

But Tony? For him everything he put in his mouth was so chosen and deliberate and he really enjoyed it. He knew exactly what was in everything he ordered and how it should taste and he loved it. Bruce knew from experience that Tony would rather not eat all day then make a lunch out of the kind of junk he grew up with and just splurge on whatever the next meal he ate was – unless he was stoned. And then Tony loved  _ everything _ . 

The sudden and unexpected vision of Tony stoned with his mouth around his dick, sucking him off with that appreciative look on his flushed face, on his knees with drool running down his chin, came out of nowhere and totally derailed Bruce’s train of thought in such a way he literally choked on his own spit and he had to look away, face burning as he tried not to cough and draw any more attention to himself. That was completely unnecessary and he had no idea where it came from but he hoped in black, restrictive swim trunks his undeniable erection wasn’t too noticeable. He chugged back his fancy drink and tried hard to focus in on the conversation, willing away any more thoughts like that. He’d be lucky if Tony was on speaking terms with him tonight – that was fucking obscene. 

“Have you sailed here before?” Clint asked, swiping a big hunk of wasabi over tuna. 

“Before I knew how to sail,” Tony laughed. “My parents owned real estate down here for a while. Sometimes we’d charter a boat and go snorkeling in the bay. It’s different now, I’m sure, thanks to global warming, but yeah – it’s pretty cool. We’ll have to see if they’ll rent us some gear and find some manatees.”

The prospect faintly terrified Bruce – standing in the water was one thing, but trying to breath through a tube surrounded by giant sea creatures in the middle of the fucking ocean made his chest tight. Their new friends, however, didn’t seem to have any of the same reservations. 

“Do you think they do?” Natasha was asking with enthusiasm. “I would  _ love _ that.”

“I’m sure they do.”

Bruce finally turned towards the table as the waiter came back to bring them more drinks, pleased to see a fair number of basic nigiri left untouched in favor of the fancier rolls. He looked over at Tony, sure he ordered them explicitly for him because he knew Bruce liked the ones with more rice and less "stuff."

He listened with half an ear as he ate to Tony’s childhood snorkling stories and what they’d hoped to see and for his part Tony kept up his typical jovial banter. Bruce didn’t know how he could do it. It was one thing to lock everything up, keep it inside, and move through life like a wraith – but to keep up such a persona on top of that? It had to be exhausting. Bruce couldn’t help but watch Tony with sad fascination, thinking of his father forcing him to recite facts at Christmas. He couldn’t believe he had never seen it before. It seemed so painfully obvious now.

Tony had made his was from snorkeling in Miami to telling stories about his Christmas in Italy and Clint and Natasha were laughing and Bruce finished the last piece of sushi he was going to eat before laying back in the chair, sipping his drink and watching the kids playing in the sand down the way from them. There was a little girl, all chubby rolls and little blonde pigtails, she looked like she was just learned to stand, throwing sand in the air with a shovel and staring in amazement each time she pulled off the maneuver. Her brothers were digging a big hole and screaming every time the waves came up the beach a little too high and fought to fill it in.  

“And this huge guy is cursing me out in Italian behind this pastry case, with a few English phrases thrown in for good measure, just so he knew I knew what a fucking idiot I was, saying ‘ _ cannolis from South Italy! _ ’” They were laughing and Natasha was smacking Clint in the shoulder. 

“You’ve got to take me to Italy on our honeymoon.”

“Ha – you have to take  _ me _ ,” he was joking back. “You’re the one with the fancy engineer’s salary – the best you’re going to get out of me is, like, Ceaser’s Palace, Las Vegas.”

“Look, Vegas is fun too,” Tony admitted, his eyes distant and wistful, “but there’s something about standing on the steps of the Pantheon you just never get over...” 

Bruce didn’t say much through the rest of lunch. Tuned out most of what they’d said too. He was thankful when they finally got to retreat back to the room, trying to figure out a way to slink away and avoid Tony for a while. He needed to sort his shit out before tomorrow. There was going to be no avoiding anything on a boat for some ungodly number of hours. 

But Tony as always was about five steps ahead, suggesting that he was going to go out for a while. Bruce didn’t have to come and he didn’t have to wait up, just order whatever he wanted to the room.

So Bruce lay in bed and watched him getting ready, flitting between his bag and the bathroom, fixing his hair, smelling like that warm, musky cologne. Bruce knew he was going out to find someone less of a bummer to be with than him but what could he do? He felt terrible about it but he felt terrible about  _ everything _ and he didn’t know how to fix it. He just wanted to go back to last night when Tony was flirting with him and snuggling with him and he just... 

It was better this way. Tony needed to find someone who really wanted him, the way he needed to be wanted. 

He turned on something innocuous for background noise and stared at the wall for a long time before dragging out his phone and flipping through social media. He fought it back and forth for a while but eventually he pulled up his texts with Betty. The last text he’d gotten from her was that horrible one about being at her parents, about not being able to ‘do this’ right now, and he hated it. But maybe if he resolved this thing somehow, it would help. If this wasn’t over with Betty, then it would be easy to stop feeling all kinds of fucked up over Tony. Easy. 

_ How are you? _

It wasn’t really easy though. It felt weird to text her. He missed her but he had been working so hard not to think about her and now it was like he didn’t even know what to say to her – or how to say it. 

_ Okay. I’m considering heading back to Boston in a few days. Do you know when you’ll be home? _

Bruce stared at the message. It was so... normal? Distant, but normal. 

_ I’m not sure when Tony wants to go back. _

That was a lie. He knew Tony didn’t want to go back. But if Betty was going to be there and wanted to talk, he would figure out a way to get Tony to take him back. 

_ I didn’t even know he was planning to go to Miami.  _

_ Neither did I _ , Bruce replied. Then added,  _ He and Pepper broke up. _

_ Shit. _ There was a pause between her messages.  _ I should call her. _

It didn’t seem like she was going to say anything after that but it wasn’t enough. It meant nothing. 

_ You’ll let me know when you get back? _

_ Yeah, I want to talk. _

Bruce swallowed.  _ Can we talk now? _

_ I don’t know _ , she said. Then,  _ Wouldn’t you rather do this in person? _

He had to re-read it a couple times. If he was truly honest with himself – he knew what that meant. There was only one thing it  _ could _ mean. Betty wasn’t... She presented a very cool, put together exterior. But if she was unsure? Bruce had been through that dog and pony show with her before. It was like after she told him they needed a break. She would text a million times, say every thought as it came to her head, unload rapid fire and he would try to put together all the pieces with her until they could function again. But this? This wasn’t that. She knew. 

She knew.

_ I guess. It can wait.  _

Then Bruce really felt alone. He lay in bed until he fell asleep, not bothering to get up, not bothering to eat, not bothering to turn off the TV, just... Wishing he didn’t have to think or feel or exist anymore. And he didn’t know what time it was when Tony came back but he woke up when he heard him fumbling around, cursing under his breath and clearly trying to be quiet. But he smelled like sweat and smoke and Bruce lay there next to him, pretending to be asleep, pretending like his insides weren’t aching, pretending like he wasn’t playing back in his mind all the hands and legs and lips that had been all over Tony that night, pretending like he didn’t care. And he waited until he knew Tony was asleep before he let himself cry. 


	9. Friday, December 28

Bruce woke up the next morning to Tony in a tank top and a cream, woven short-brimmed hat with some bright feather in it he must have bought at the gift shop sing-songing “good morning!” and setting a breakfast sandwich wrapped in paper down next to his side of the bed. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling worse than he’d felt since they’d gotten here despite how much sleep he got, looking at the red numbers on the clock glaring at him 8:25. How Tony could be so chipper he didn’t know, but it kinda pissed him off. 

“I told Nat and Clint I’d drive – they’re supposed to meet us a little before nine. It’s about a half hour to the boat rental place and it would be cool to be on the water by ten.” 

He was rambling now and Bruce wasn’t listening, just hating the way his whole face felt like cotton and he stumbled to the bathroom, feeling disoriented for no reason other than crying himself to sleep and waking up still feeling shitty about it. 

Really, he wanted to just let it go. He sat back down with Tony and ate his sandwich dutifully. Tony was in a good mood, chatting about this and that, and Bruce was trying to pull himself out of it, trying to smile, trying to feel something other than an acute sense of rejection – but it was hard. Real fucking hard. 

He showered even though he guessed there was no point but he thought it might make him feel more human and it didn’t. He dressed robotically. He stared at himself in the mirror and felt barely cognizant. If he could have smacked himself out of it, he would have. But then there was Tony, and he helped. 

“This was a good idea,” Tony said quite sincerely, elbowing him lightly in the ribs as they walked down to the lobby. “Thank you. It’s going to be fun.”

And it was like... It was like seeing that kind smile from Tony, directed at him, was all it took to make him feel something again and that something – it was burning in his gut and it felt nice and warm and he wanted it to be this way, wanted to lean into it. He – he... 

He pushed it down, kept it there, there in his gut where it couldn’t reach his heart but still – he felt a little better.

They met up with Clint and Natasha in the lobby, both their new friends wearing big, excited smiles and greeting them enthusiastically before they headed down to the parking deck.

“ _ Damn _ this is a nice SUV,” Natasha hummed appreciatively as Tony opened the trunk so they could put their supplies in and Tony flushed with pride. 

He didn’t buy it, but he did love that Cadillac, and he took care of it like he had. It wasn’t so bad being friends with someone as wealthy as Tony when you felt they truly appreciated what they had. 

“She’s my baby,” he admitted, running his fingers lovingly along the exterior after he shut the trunk. “And she has yet to break my heart.”

They climbed in and Natasha couldn’t help saying how excited she was, Clint’s amusement at his girlfriend’s obvious enthusiasm stupidly endearing. 

“She was reading the Biscayne Bay park site last night,” he laughed. “Apparently manatees hang out there more in the winter months.”

“And there are actual ship wrecks we could check out,” she continued for him and Tony was nodding his head.

“Yeah, I’ve got the coordinates,” he said, tapping his phone on the console with a grin. “I’m excited too – it’s been a damn long time since I’ve been snorkeling. Have you ever been?”  

They all confessed they had not so Tony, being Tony, spent the rest of the trip down giving them a little pep talk on how to get the most out of their first snorkeling experience and answering questions and Bruce was pretty sure he was going to hate it but Tony was so pleased he knew he was going to end up trying it anyway. 

Tony handled the rental at the front desk while Bruce hung back watching Clint and Natasha peruse the equipment for sale in the front and the brochures, laughing at some private jokes. Then they were taken out to the boat and Bruce had to physically force himself to keep breathing. It was  _ tiny _ . Which shouldn't have surprised him, he knew it was going to be tiny, but still – it was small and they were going to go out on that thing and be miles and miles from shore and they would be fine, they'd be okay, he  _ knew _ that, but also... It was just so small. 

Tony though moved through it with the biggest grin, packing their rented snorkel equipment and lunch and towels and sunscreen away and throwing on a huge pair of aviator shades he’d had tucked up on the front of his shirt.

"You need a life vest?" he joked, poking Bruce in the ribs, and Bruce swallowed.

"Maybe."

Tony laughed. “Let me rig this baby up and we’ll be off. It’ll only take a minute, this is like – the easiest boat in the world to sail.”

Bruce watched as Tony moved effortlessly across the small space, unhooking cables and moving masts or booms or... whatever they were called. And it was hard not to watch his muscles move so easily beneath his skin – flexing, so clearly visible in that tank top – and God how did Bruce forget  _ every _ fucking time how muscular Tony was, how good Tony looked? He turned away to watch Natasha twisting up her hair into a messy bun but then she was clapping as the front sail slid up the pole and Tony was motioning them in. 

He stepped in precariously, not liking the feeling of it, like the floor was moving right beneath him – because it was – but trying to appear more confident than he was. Tony sat him down right next to the front panel where all the ropes and things were and Bruce stared at the unfamiliar configuration with a sense of dread. 

“Now you can help me,” Tony teased – or at least, Bruce sure as hell hoped he was teasing – as Clint and Natasha sat down across from them.

They pushed off, Tony navigating them carefully away from the other boats, clearly using quite a bit of concentration and touching several of the ropes quickly and Christ, Bruce was looking away again, out over the water, because what he'd said yesterday wasn't a lie – he did think this skill was impressive. But even more than that, he thought it was hot. It was  _ really _ fucking hot and he somehow wasn't expecting that. And it didn't make it easier that Tony had fucked around with him and it damn sure didn't make it easier that that was clearly off the table now. But there was that feeling in his gut again he couldn't deny, only push down. Push it down, push it down. He'd done it a million times before – it shouldn't have been this hard.

But Tony...

"This is  _ so _ cool," Natasha enthused as the wind pulled at her hair and she took in everything, Clint's eyes flirting between her and the coast, a broad grin on his face. 

Tony turned the boat as they eased out into clear water and it tipped towards their side, Natasha leaning over in a way that faintly terrified Bruce, letting her fingers run through the water below, laughing. And Clint just turned to look at Tony and their eyes met in something that looked like a thank you and Bruce wondered what he’d missed.

“It is beautiful,” Clint offered as Bruce stared out across the water, the light glinting off the big expanse at all angles and skyscrapers in the distance, slowly fading away, wind dragging through his hair, and it was like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. 

“Hey, grab that second rope there,” Tony said, breaking his mindless reverie, and Bruce blinked, confused. “The second one,” he repeated, waiting for Bruce to comply. 

Uncertain, Bruce picked it up, holding it limply in his hand. 

“Pull it towards you until you just feel the tension,” he instructed and Bruce did as he was told, staring up at the sails like he knew what he was looking at, and then he felt it. 

“There you go,” Tony grinned, his hand resting easily on the tiller. “Now you’re sailing.” 

Bruce laughed but it felt good, too. Somehow, even when he was nursing a wound put there by Tony, it was still Tony who was able to make him feel good. Somehow – fuck. That was a lie and he knew it. He  _ knew _ how. And it wasn’t just because Tony was ridiculously good at reading him – though that obviously helped.

“Hardly.”

“I told you this was the easiest boat in the world to sail.” 

“Easy if you know what all those ropes mean.”

Tony just shrugged with that ridiculously handsome lopsided grin and Bruce hated that he loved when Tony looked at him like that. 

“Oh my God!” Natasha’s hands were at her mouth, looking back behind the boat. “Look!” 

They all turned in her direction to see dolphins off the side, about twenty feet away and moving in towards them. Even Bruce was taken in by the sight of it, completely unprepared for how it would make him feel as they grew closer.

Natasha smacked Clint’s knee, eyes shining, and he just laughed. “I know!” he was saying as they sidled up alongside the boat and even Bruce was leaning over to see them in awe, flirting with the surface and darting alongside and over and beneath each other. There were about fifteen or twenty as far as Bruce could tell and when the first one jumped he actually laughed out loud. 

When he realized it he looked over at Tony, feeling silly and embarrassed, but Tony was grinning too, holding the tiller steady for them to cruise along with their new friends. He nodded and lifted his brows over those giant sunglasses as if to say  _ see? I told you it’s fun _ but Bruce didn’t mind. He knew it wasn’t mean. 

The dolphins followed them for a while, long enough for Natasha to think of her phone and take some videos. Then she was in Clint's lap, taking a selfie with him, and turning the camera on an unwitting Bruce and more-than-witting Tony. But really, she was back to dolphin watching quickly enough, as they all were. 

Eventually they left though, Tony saying something about water depth as he was checking his phone, playing with the ropes to steer them closer to the direction he wanted them to end up in. 

"Found you," Natasha winked as she stared at her own phone, probably tagging them in something on Facebook or Instagram and Bruce could only imagine how ridiculous he looked in a picture, all windswept hair and a stupid fucking smile on his face as he watched dolphins off the side of the boat.

He was just going to have to try not to think about it. 

Eventually they came up on what Tony called a mooring anchor and he was explaining they were at the edge of the Keys now and once he had the boat anchored and settled Natasha waved him over for a picture.

"We need a shot with our illustrious captain," she joked and he obliged easily, taking off his sunglasses but replacing his silly hat – silly, because Bruce would never admit what he really thought of it – and Bruce took the picture for them. 

"Now like I said, don't push yourself too hard – if you start to feel anxious, just come up and chill out," he said as he pulled out their snorkel gear. "And try to just use your legs – trust me. It feels weird at first but take it slow, you'll see more stuff that way." 

Bruce was clearly the only one having major anxiety but between the idea of the water and having to watch Tony pull off his shirt without getting hard his emotions didn't know where the hell to be. He was practically shaking as he tried to tighten the fact mask and Tony stopped him, helping him to tighten it himself.

"If it's too much, that's okay," Tony was saying softly to preserve his pride but in that moment he really wasn't sure it was the ocean that was causing the most problems. "But you won't feel the undertow here. It's really cool okay, just breathe."

Bruce nodded but he felt mortified even though he knew Tony was just trying to help. Somehow it was worse after last night. Like now he had something to prove, even though that was stupid. He had nothing to prove to Tony. Even if Tony  _ had _ wanted him like that, this was for the best – for both of them. Push it down. 

The boat tilted a little as Clint and Natasha slipped off the boat and into the water, pushing out and treading for a moment while they waited for Tony and Bruce to join them. Which Tony did easily as well but then Bruce stood there, staring down at the water, trying not to freak out the way he was freaking out right then. Just like a swimming pool, he told himself. The water was almost as clear. And the boat was right here. It would be okay. 

Tony reached out to him and Bruce laughed, like that was going to do shit, and it seemed pretty obvious Tony realized it too because he made this pathetic waning gesture and just put his hand down again but laughing helped and before he could overthink it again, let himself fall into the water. 

It was a graceless entry and he sputtered out of the water, feeling okay once he caught his breath. Really, it  _ was _ a lot like a pool. More than the beach was, anyway. He took a minute to acclimate and watched as Natasha and Clint and Tony swam off. But it was okay. He wasn’t going to try to keep up anyway. 

At first, it was not good. The whole experience was extremely claustrophobic for him – with the water rushing in his ears and surrounding him and rocking him and his feet dragging with the heavy flippers and the mask constricting his face and the tube making it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t focus on anything in the water so he startled when he saw Tony coming up from under him, swimming up to his left. 

“Hey,” he was saying, slipping his mask up on his forehead to talk to Bruce more easily and touching his arm. “You doing okay?” 

Bruce nodded though he really didn’t feel it. 

“You don’t have to work so hard at it,” Tony said, moving his hand to Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce nodded again, trying to be more confident this time... but he wasn’t really.  

“Just – here. Hold my hand.” Tony slipped his hand down Bruce’s arm until he reached his hand, gripping it hard in his own. “Try to calm your breathing. I know it’s uncomfortable, but the more normally you breathe, the easier it is.”

_ Easier said than done _ , Bruce thought dryly, but couldn’t vocalize it with a fucking tube in his mouth and he couldn’t move his hand to move the tube when one of them was locked into Tony’s and he needed the other to tread water but then that was just making him breathe harder so – 

“Seriously,” Tony laughed. “Calm down. You got this. One, two, three...” 

He rolled his eyes and glared at Tony beneath the mask but he did take a minute to count out his breathing and get it under control as Tony slipped his mask back over his eyes. 

“You can get down pretty deep on a single breath, but you don’t have to. You can just stay up here and check shit out from above. And like I said, let your legs do all the work. You just need to tilt forward and float, okay? I’ll be right here.” 

Bruce felt dumb nodding again but he did as Tony replaced the tube in his mouth. He grinned at him around it, looking ridiculous, and then turned forward, tugging at Bruce’s arm a little as he leaned into the water. 

Truthfully, it helped to have Tony there next to him. He didn’t feel like he was stuck there floundering anymore, Tony gave him some sense of what speed he should be going, how exactly it was supposed to work. Tony pulled him along a little at first with slow kicks as Bruce just focused on floating and breathing and then once he got comfortable breathing through the tube he joined in with his feet too. It took entirely less effort than he thought and Tony squeezed his hand when he realized he was getting it too, shooting him a thumbs up then pointing down below them to a little shark floating beneath them. 

Bruce grinned, surprised that he was calm enough to actually focus on it. Now he could see the reef beneath them and fish darting in and out of it in schools and it was really cool. Really, really cool. 

Tony let go of his hand and Bruce felt it’s absence far more acutely then he would have liked. But watching him drop down to get a closer look at the reef, sliding along so naturally, wasn’t bad either. And that was the problem with all that he was trying to keep down – it made it so it didn’t matter what they were doing or how far away Tony was. Just being anywhere near him was enough. 

Slowly he lead them out to where Natasha and Clint were just starting to get the hang of holding their breath for longer periods of time but Bruce didn’t have much interest in that really – this was enough. He liked watching them point out shit – interesting plants and fish and Clint even found a small sea turtle passing through. Still – he turned in earlier then they did, glad to be back on the boat and drying off in the warm midday sun. 

Bruce had already cracked a beer and was laying on the bench seat dozing off by the time Tony came back. Tony didn’t disturb him though, just grabbed a water and watched off the side of the boat at Clint and Natasha finishing up. It felt comfortable between them again, at least. He wanted that. He wanted more than that. 

Push it down. 

“I’m fucking starving,” Clint announced as he climbed into the boat, letting Tony help him. Bruce knew that was his cue to actually sit up and he tried to drag himself out of his sun-induced sleepy haze. 

“Oh my God,” Natasha was saying as she dropped her mask, raking back her hair. “That was incredible!” 

“Right?” Tony said, paralleling her enthusiasm. “I’ve missed it.”

“That was honestly just what I needed,” she continued, accepting a beer from Clint as he began to take out their picnic supplies. “Work has just been so bad but – this makes it feel worth it somehow.”

“What do you do again?” Bruce asked, not sure if she ever told them but then the way he had zoned out yesterday he definitely would have missed it. 

“I’m an EPA regulations consultant for a big environmental engineering firm,” she said and yeah, that sounded like it sucked. Even Tony grimaced. “Yeah,” she confirmed. “It’s... stressful. No one wants to follow the law, they all want to bribe you somehow, but especially being young and being a woman? It’s bad. I can’t even tell you...”

“These assholes,” Clint muttered as he handed Tony and Bruce both a sandwich wrapped up in paper. “If they’re not trying to hit on her they’re insulting her intelligence. Most of these dumbasses didn’t even graduate let alone from an engineering program at Georgia Tech, just inherited some money and some real estate from daddy.” 

Bruce very carefully didn’t look at Tony but Tony didn’t even flinch. 

Nat just shook her head and threw back some beer. “It’s fine – I knew what I was signing up for. These past three months have just been particularly bad because on top of all of that, a bunch of people quit, so I’m dealing with about ten more clients than I can reasonably handle, and no one gives a single fuck. It’s like there’s no end in sight.”

“Just stay in school, kids,” Clint joked as he sat back having served everyone and set up some hummus and chips and fruit and brownies on top of the cooler chest. “The real world is shitsville.”

_ Truly _ , Bruce thought, _ they have no idea. _

But instead he just elbowed Tony. “See, we have to go back, Clint says so.”

Tony rolled his eyes but apparently Clint wasn’t done.

“Seriously. Take more loans, fail some classes, do whatever you have to do – just do not graduate.” 

They were all laughing, even Clint, even though his statement had a serious edge. 

“The prestigious life of a vet tech not working out for you either?” Tony jabbed and Clint paused with his mouth halfway to his sandwich. 

“No, actually – I love my job.”

Tony about lost it then and Bruce laughed with him, neither one of them truly expecting that answer. “ _ What _ ? You don’t think being an Aerospace Engineer would be a great job?” 

“ _ Hell _ no,” Clint said emphatically. “You are thinking  _ way _ too lofty there. Only going to cause you pain.”

Tony chuckled. “I mean, to be honest I think I’d be happy just being an airplane mechanic.”

Clint made a sound and shook his head. “No – that is still  _ way _ ambitious. Think lower.”

“Okay – car mechanic,” Tony offered and Clint shook his head again, pointing down. 

“ _ Much _ lower.”

“... bicycle mechanic?”

Clint finally nodded with a mouthful of food, flashing a ‘perfect’ gesture with his fingers.

“Tony Stark the bike guy,” Tony laughed but it wasn’t particularly nice. “Dad loves it already.”

“What about you?” Natasha asked, looking at Bruce, and Bruce just shrugged and swallowed. 

“I don’t really care what I do I just want to make enough money to have a place to live and a full refrigerator and help my mom out when she needs it,” he admitted, a little chagrined, but Natasha just offered a half smile. 

“The dream of a generation,” she muttered in a way that was both biting and wistful and exactly how Bruce felt. “What’s your major again?”

“Bio-chem.”

She nodded encouragingly. “There’s a lot of engineers that work for us in bio-chem and they  _ definitely _ get paid for it.”

“I’m not going to be picky,” Bruce said, giving her an appreciative smile. “My thesis is on the molecular effect of medications leaching into the environment but frankly – I’d consult for the EPA.”

Natasha laughed. “I’m a big proponent of take a job, any job – but see what kind of gig you could get working  _ for _ the EPA. That kind of research – that’s important.”

Bruce shrugged, a little self-conscious. “We’ll see.”

Tony worked to steer the conversation away from school and Bruce eventually took out his phone to take a picture, still feeling sore about his conversation with Betty last night and wanting her to think he was more okay than he really was. He added Clint and Natasha to his Instagram and scrolled through Tony’s series of ridiculous selfies he hadn’t seen since he hadn’t logged in since the day after Christmas – selfishly glad Tony hadn’t posted anything from wherever he’d been the night before. 

But what he wasn’t expecting was how he was going to feel when he saw the picture Natasha took of him and Tony. Tony, with that easy broad smile and that idiotic hat and those stupid shades and his muscular arms in that dumb tank top leaned back into the seat, one arm over the seat and the wrist of his other casually thrown over the tiller, looking so easy and – and handsome and there was Bruce. He had one leg up on the seat with his arms thrown around it, having had his chin propped on it to watch the dolphins. But he had happened to look back at Tony and was smiling, about to say something, and his smile was so... painfully real. He thought he would look ridiculous when she took the picture but when he was looking at it now he just looked... happy. And the cognitive dissonance of how he felt and how he looked in that picture was too much. That guy, in that picture, couldn’t be him. But the feeling he got when he was looking at it was so painful and so sweet that he couldn’t stop staring. 

“Hey – we’re gonna go find a lighthouse – and some bathrooms,” Tony said, getting his attention with a light smack against his upper arm. “I forgot how much drinking water fucking sucks.”

Bruce nodded, looking up at him and repositioning himself better, appreciating that Tony knew he wouldn’t have liked to be startled by the boat suddenly moving. He screenshotted the picture against his better judgement and helped Clint organize the trash while Tony unhooked them from the anchor. 

They drank beer and sailed up with an island to their right for a while until Tony found the location he was looking for, docking the boat with expertise and finesse in this little island inlet. There was a lighthouse and facilities and even campgrounds there and they took their trash inland. Tony wanted to check something on the boat when they were done and so Bruce wandered after Clint and Natasha to the lighthouse. 

“Can you imagine growing up getting to do stuff like this?” Natasha was asking as they came up on it, a beautiful white stone structure that was nothing like any lighthouse he ever saw in Boston. 

Bruce huffed out a laugh. “Absolutely not.” Frankly it was hard for him to imagine what it was like to have a relatively mundane middle class lifestyle like they probably had growing up. 

He took a picture for them and they started to head down the far side of the island, sure that Tony would see them or catch up as the island wasn’t very big and it was especially narrow at this end. But it was actually they who stumbled into Tony. Bruce almost didn’t see him but for that hat – laying on the little bit of sand there on the beach, his head resting on his hands, fingers laced beneath it, that hat sitting on his forehead, just covering his eyes from the sun – and Bruce said they’d catch up in a minute, that he wanted to talk to Tony a minute. 

But he didn’t really want to talk to him – it was just that he couldn’t not be near him. He was drawn in, like Tony was reeling him in with one of those ropes, just increasing the tension. And Bruce sat down next to him, liking the feeling of being close to him, trying to push it down but... 

There was the feeling of Tony’s hand in his, helping him breathe. There was the picture of them on the boat, looking happy together, like they could be happy together. There was Tony holding him as he cried, his face against his neck, his hand in his. There was Tony flirting with him over pool, Tony masturbating in bed with him, Tony thanking him for coming, Tony rigging the boat, Tony sucking his dick. And underneath all of it was that feeling in his stomach, hot and heavy and growing and growing until it was going to choke him because no matter how much he pushed it down it was _still_ _fucking growing_. 

And that feeling – fuck. It would be so much easier if that feeling just wasn’t there, if it was just some physical thing, some kind of rebound thing. If it could just be easy, if it could just not be a fucking crush. 

But instead he was staring down at Tony and he couldn’t help it – he wanted him. He was half-hard just looking at him and his toned body, his easy posture, his warm half smile at nothing other than laying there in the sun with his eyes closed and Bruce – fuck – Bruce knew what he was going to do. And he wanted to stop it – Christ, how badly he wanted to just  _ not _ – but he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Hey,” he mumbled, watching Tony’s eyelashes flutter just under his hat, getting his attention but not letting him speak and allow him to derail Bruce in any way before he leaned down to kiss him full on the mouth. 

It was a weird and stilted thing for two people who had kissed so easily before but Tony was clearly surprised and as much as Bruce wanted it there was a part of his brain that was screaming at him not to do this, not to admit it, not to go down this path that was sure to only cause him difficulty and heartache. 

He pulled away, embarrassed and frightened because Tony didn’t really respond – at least not the way he expected. But Tony was tilting his hat off his eyes and looking up at him, this real slow but magnificent smile spreading across his face.

“Bruce?” he asked, a little note of amusement and awe in that singular syllable that made Bruce’s chest collapse completely and then he could do nothing but surrender. 

His lips were hot and hard against Tony’s and this time Tony was kissing him back and –  _ oh God _ . Tony’s hands were reaching for him, one on the back of his neck, pulling himself up into a sitting position so it would be easier, so he could kiss him back just as hard. And it just felt so  _ good _ to be able to kiss him like that again – like Tony wanted him, really,  _ badly _ wanted him, the way Bruce would finally admit he wanted Tony.

He was trying to be better than that, trying not to moan, trying not to let how hard he was bother him but he wanted to press his body into Tony’s until there was not a single atom of space between them and he was stuck here on this beach sitting side by side and then –  _ fuck _ .

Tony was straddling him, sliding into his hips, grinding against them with these slow, easy movements, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and his fingers in his hair and kissing him, kissing him, kissing him... 

Bruce was shaking and Tony was laughing against his lips and he knew they had to stop but fuck if he knew how to say that – right here? right now? on this beach? no – but Tony was always ten steps ahead. 

Tony stood up, making it seem easy, and held his hand out to Bruce. Bruce’s chest was heaving and he pushed the sweat slicked hair back from his face, not even looking at Tony’s hand for a moment, just needing to get some kind of control over himself. 

He saw Tony’s fingers move in a ‘come here’ motion out of the corner of his eye. 

“Since you had to ruin my nap,” he teased gently, “we should probably find Nat and Clint and head back. Maybe... get a pizza and go to bed early?” 

It was extremely clear what his intention was and Bruce’s cheeks flushed but he couldn’t help the smile on his face. It felt really good to smile up at Tony like that and have him smile back down at him and just exist on the same page again. Bruce grabbed his hand and let Tony hoist him up, using his leverage to pull him in close and keep him there. 

They walked down the beach hand in hand and Bruce felt like every part of him was trying to eject itself from his physical form. The rational part of his mind was still screaming at him to bail before this became too big for him to deal with while the part that wanted this more than it would even admit was having a full blown meltdown about how here he was, with Tony, grinning over at him, holding his hand, just casually walking along like they did this every day. 

When they saw Clint and Natasha Tony dropped his hand, and though Bruce missed its presence, it didn’t feel like Tony was trying to hide anything either. 

“This is beautiful,” Natasha was saying as they walked up. “We are definitely camping down here soon.”

“Yeah, there’s camp sites all through the keys – and it’s easy to charter a boat,” Tony agreed as they walked in the direction of their boat. “I’m sure your puppers would love it too.” 

“They  _ would _ ,” she said and Clint agreed and they related dog camping stories all the way back to the boat. 

Tony rigged up the little boat and Clint passed around beers and Natasha settled in between Clint’s legs for the ride back and Tony couldn’t stop smiling at him. Once they were out in open water and he didn’t need to be so hands on with the ropes he motioned Bruce a little closer and put his hand on the back of his neck, stroking his fingers against it, curling them in his hair, and Bruce just sat there and shivered as he sipped on his beer. It felt so good, so nice, Tony’s thumb at his pulse point, his hand warm against the chill of the wind. This was bad, and Bruce knew it was bad, but it felt  _ so _ damn good.

And anyway, it was too late. So Bruce reached up and held his hand there, grinning over at Tony, basking in the glow of his attention. 

Clint had to tap Natasha awake when they finally moved in to dock and Tony dealt with the boat return as they carried the cooler back to his car, loading it up, and waiting for Tony to come back and drive them back. 

“You’re great,” Natasha was saying, pushing him on the shoulder as he started the car. “This was really great – thank you.” 

Tony shrugged. “I live to serve.”

“And modest too,” Bruce joked and Tony rolled his eyes to pin him with a look.

“When have you known me to be modest?” 

“Not often,” Bruce admitted with a laugh.

“Doesn’t seem like you really need to be modest,” Clint piped up from the back.

“Honestly?” Tony replied but Clint kept right on going. 

“Smart, funny, hot, and apparently can do anything including but not limited to get into MIT, speak Italian, and sail.” 

“You don’t  _ have _ to flatter me now.”

“Now me? I need to be modest,” Clint continued but it was clearly tongue in cheek and they were laughing. “I’ve got an associates degree and about $32 in my 401k and I really like those weird Hot Pockets with the eggs in them which, yes, objectively they are nasty, but at least dogs like me, am I right?”

Natasha was laughing and reached over to jab him in the ribs, getting him to laugh as well. “It’s just so cute how dogs like you.” 

“Plus, I somehow got Nat so I’ve got that going for me,” he added, a softer, more sincere tone to his jaunty sarcasm, and she gave him a quick kiss across the middle seat. 

When they finally pulled into the hotel parking deck Natasha was explaining that they had reservations for dinner tomorrow but that if they got bored they should text. And Tony and Bruce were left to awkward, anxious little glances as they made their way up to the room together. 

They both knew what was going to happen and yeah, it had happened before but now – it was different. Bruce was – he wanted it. He wanted it before but there was nothing to hide behind now. And it scared him to be that open, that vulnerable. And there was Tony, peeling off his shirt right there in front of him and Bruce felt none of the bravado he did on the beach. Here in this room with the sun setting, he only felt fear. 

“Be thinking about what you want on a pizza,” Tony was saying as he pulled the drawstring on his swim trunks. “I’m going to take a shower. And, hey...” 

Bruce had been staring off to the side, chewing his lip like he was deep in thought and not just avoiding looking at Tony out of the sheer terror of facing what he was loath to admit he wanted. Tony touched his chest so gently, brought his hand up to his chin, turned his head just slightly to look him in the eyes and Bruce could literally feel his heart rate increase just looking into those gorgeous, dark eyes. 

“You can join me, if you want.” 

Bruce was pretty sure he had just stopped breathing entirely. He shook his head ever so slightly and Tony just shrugged and dropped his hand back to his waistband to slide out of it. 

“Your call. But don’t forget – pizza!” 

Tony called as he disappeared into the bathroom and Bruce fell heavily to the bed, breathing hard, trying to remember – it was Tony. It was Tony. And Tony wasn’t going to do anything to hurt him. They’d done this before. And they both wanted it again. Tony wasn’t going to judge him. Tony was... 

It wasn’t Tony, though. It was  _ him _ . It was Bruce. Bruce – who only ever admired men from a distance, never let himself get too close, never let himself consider it. Bruce – whose father was still shouting a litany of obscenities in the back of his mind. Bruce – who had only ever had sex with Betty and wasn’t sure what to do with all...  _ that _ and it scared him. Bruce – who only ever wanted things to be easy and this was in no way going to be easy. 

But then realizing that, realizing that  _ he _ was the one holding himself back – it infuriated him. He heard the shower turn on, reflexively imagining Tony naked, standing in the spray, water running in rivulets down every curve of his impressive body and he... he  _ wanted _ him. And he knew he wanted him. And he knew he was the only one who was going to be able to do anything about that. And even if he was fucking terrified, he had to do this. 

He  _ wanted _ to do this. 

And without letting himself think about it too hard beyond that, he pushed himself forward into the bathroom, startling Tony, throwing off his shirt and dropping his swim trunks and pushing himself into the shower, full contact into Tony’s warm, wet body. 

“Fucking A,” Tony sputtered, laughing against his lips as he held his body close. 

Bruce’s hands were on his back, feeling along the musculature there, running down to his ass, gripping it and pressing him into his own hips. He could feel Tony’s dick hard between them and he forced himself not to think too much about it. It was just a dick, he had one himself. He knew what to do with it and maybe he wouldn’t be very good at it at first but – fuck. 

He focused on the taste of Tony’s saltwater skin under the shower spray, kissing his chin, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. And he focused on the feeling of Tony cradling his head, holding him close, wanting him there just as much as Bruce wanted to be there. And though it was heavy there was no reason to rush. Tony was making the most wonderful sounds, enjoying every moment of attention Bruce was giving him, and it bolstered his confidence as he moved his mouth up to his ear, his hand sliding up the well defined planes of his body to run a thumb across his nipple, loving the way he gasped.

“I might be bad at this,” he mumbled against Tony’s neck as his hand slid back down Tony’s body, lower than before, an undeniable terror clawing at his gut but he knew if he just  _ did it _ he’d feel better about it and it would get easier. 

“Fuck, I just,” Tony answered back against his ear, “I just want you to – fuck,  _ yes _ .”

Bruce had wrapped his hand around Tony’s dick and felt a keen sense of satisfaction that Tony wanted that, that it felt good. The angle was weird but it wasn’t really different and he loved the deep moan Tony made as he stroked up against it. He buried his head in Tony’s shoulder, his lips on his throat, feeling the way he swallowed, the way he moaned, the way his fingers found purchase in Bruce’s wet hair as he jerked him off slowly. 

It was always difficult in the shower, the water creating too much friction, and Bruce didn’t want to hurt him, and he swallowed convulsively, knowing what he was about to do. It shouldn’t have been weird but it was – and it didn’t help that he knew how much Betty never cared to do it, figured there had to be a reason. But he was going to. Just – just do it. Tony was pulling at his hair, he knew he wanted more even though he wouldn’t ask, and Bruce was just going to do it. 

In one motion he slid to the floor on his knees, not allowing himself time to think much about it before taking as much of Tony’s dick in his mouth as he could. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ !” Tony shouted, throwing an arm out to find purchase on the tile wall, trying to steady himself in his surprise. “ _ Christ _ Bruce, fucking – you don’t have to...”

But Bruce was already adjusting, realizing that was too much, sliding it out, trying to figure out what felt right. He closed his eyes against the shower spray and brought his hand up to steady Tony’s dick, trying to get a grip on what he was doing, running his tongue down along the bottom of the head and up to the slit, feeling it out, testing how sensitive he was. 

Tony’s abs jumped and he could feel his legs shake and his expletives got pretty loud and Bruce grinned around his dick. This wasn’t so bad. And it helped that Tony was so endlessly vocal that when he finally got into a good rhythm Tony was right there, encouraging him on,  _ yeah, fuck, that feels so good, please, fuck, please keep going, oh yeah _ ... And Bruce’s dick was straining with how hot it was to be down there, on his knees, hearing Tony sputter out his enthusiasm, Tony's hips working desperately to stay still, his hand balled into a fist on the tile, coming undone because of him – because of  _ him _ . 

His dick was swelling in his mouth and his hand fell from the shower wall and Tony was stuttering out an apology as his hand touched Bruce’s on his dick. 

“I’m  _ so _ close,” he groaned, clearly not wanting to but pushing Bruce back, away, moving to brace himself against the forward wall with his left hand while his right took over.

Bruce sat back on his knees, grabbing himself, stroking himself, watching in abject fascination as Tony finished himself off, his cum barely missing Bruce’s face, making something perverse and primal light a fire in his gut and it was so damn  _ hot _ to watch Tony standing over him like that with his dick in his hand, chest heaving in post-orgasmic high and God, Bruce wanted to join him there.

Tony sat down alongside him, nose nuzzling his ear and whispering all kinds of dirty shit as his hand found its way to Bruce’s and it wrapped itself around his and he was begging Bruce to come and even with the discomfort of the water it didn’t take long then. 

He was laughing this fluttery kind of cathartic laugh, relaxing his hand into Tony’s, and he looked over at him to see him smiling a super soft, happy smile. And Tony’s cheeks flushed and he tucked his head up against the side of Bruce’s face so he wouldn’t see him blush. 

“Guess you probably weren’t thinking about pizza,” he mumbled. 

Bruce laughed and then Tony kissed him, real gently, like he was something fragile and special and there was that feeling in his stomach again, growing, growing – but in that moment he didn’t care. His lips pressed softly against Tony’s, soaking in every second of that sweet, peaceful kiss. 

“C’mere,” Tony murmured, pulling him up. “Let me.”

Tony lathered his hair for him, massaging his scalp, rinsing out the suds, gently bathing him in some kind of way that felt a little like veneration but mostly just amazing to have someone touch him like that, so intimately and in such a non-sexual way, just wanting to be close to him. And Bruce returned the favor, Tony practically purring under his touch. Tony had always been physically affectionate, even just as a friend. He’d smack your shoulder or throw his arm around your neck or grab your hand to shake it and pull you into a hug – but this was something new. Tony leaned back into him, followed his hands with his own across his body, kept him close. Bruce kissed his ear, the back of his neck, and Tony turned around in his arms, kissing him gently. 

“What about Hawaiian?” 

Bruce snorted. “Really? I can’t believe I just sucked the dick of a guy who wants Hawaiian pizza.”

“Pineapple makes semen taste sweeter,” Tony teased, biting at his jaw.

“That’s a myth.”

“It so is not.”

“Come on.” 

“It’s not!” 

“The amount on a pizza?” 

“Well, you do probably need to eat more than  _ that _ ,” Tony admitted at last and Bruce laughed, hitting the shower controls behind Tony. 

“I’d eat it,” Bruce capitulated as Tony moved away to grab a towel and, before he could back out, added, “I’d also, you know... swallow.”

Tony paused and Bruce was sure he saw the back of his neck flush. He covered his head in a towel, drying his hair as he muffled out – 

“I just didn’t want to surprise you, your first time.” But then his hands stopped and he turned, looking at him curiously. “It  _ was _ your first time, right?” 

“Uh... yeah,” he admitted, grabbing his own towel and moving in the opposite direction as Tony, starting at his feet and moving up his body. 

Tony stopped him at his waist, giving him another kiss, making Bruce feel warm and appreciated. “It was good.”

And Tony ordered the pizza and made them dress in the fluffy hotel robes and watch nonsense on TV until it came and they clinked their beer glasses together over ham and pineapple and fell asleep kissing, nestled into one another. 


	10. Saturday, December 29

They woke up a comfortable tangle of limbs and Tony’s grin only a few inches from his face was beatific. Bruce’s heart felt so full seeing it that it was almost too much – way more than he could deal with first damn thing in the morning.

Tony reached out to touch his face and Bruce kissed his palm and it was so easy between them, every move reflected in kind by the other, amplifying until they were on top of each other and their hands were everywhere, everywhere. 

Bruce felt high with Tony’s legs between his, with his mouth over every inch of his skin. He wanted to take it all in and hold it there forever, never let it go. It was impossible for him to stop framing Tony’s face in his hands, kissing him on the mouth. Even more than sex what he wanted was this – rolling around in the sheets, kissing, touching, knowing he was wanted, feeling like he was something to somebody, like someone needed him. 

And Tony was straddling him, pouring lube Bruce didn’t even know he had with him between their bodies, grinding his hips against his and it felt so, so fucking good. They were both sweaty and hot and slick and they were pressed together so tight Bruce didn’t know where Tony started and where he ended but he rocked his hips and he knew Tony’s rocked back and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he felt even better. 

But there was no rush. Bruce was so overstimulated he was trembling but it was like some slow slide into nirvana and he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to. But he didn’t. In fact he was pretty sure if he died right then, it would be the only point in his timeline where he died happy. 

When he came it was a slow roll, an intense full body experience that left him shaking and gasping for air as Tony collapsed on him, face against his neck, laughing breathily and quivering himself. And he put one grateful hand on Tony’s face, kissing his forehead awkwardly. 

“Well that was amazing,” Bruce said after a moment and Tony laughed, snuggling further into the place where his neck met his shoulder. 

They lay there for a while, Bruce grateful to not be thinking of anything at all but the loose feeling in all his bones, Tony playing absently with his fingers on his chest. Bruce was pretty convinced he was perfectly okay with falling back to sleep but Tony laced their fingers together, squeezing a little. 

“I’m not... I’m not taking advantage of you, am I?” 

Bruce blinked and tried to look over at him, surprised. “Huh?” 

Tony huffed out an embarrassed breath. “I just want to make sure – I mean, I don’t want – I don’t know. I don’t want this to be like a thing because you’re fucked up over Betty.”

“And you’re not fucked up over Pep?” Bruce bit back, feeling defensive but trying not to be, not to shut Tony out either. 

Of course he was fucked up over Betty – but this wasn’t about that. This was something else entirely, something new. And it wouldn’t have happened without Betty, but it also wasn’t  _ because _ of her.

“Well, okay, yeah,” Tony said, pressing his palm into his eye and rubbing at it wearily. “But it’s like – you’ve never shown any interest in guys – except for, I don’t know, your complete lack of judgement, like you were just waiting for someone to dare you to do it. And I just – I don’t want you to feel like I coerced you into it because we were both fucked up. I don’t want you to regret it.”

“... and if I was?” Bruce mumbled, looking away, wishing they weren’t having this conversation but understanding Tony’s intentions were good. 

“Huh?” he asked this time, pushing himself up on one hand to look at Bruce better. 

“Waiting for someone to dare me?” 

Tony was quiet a moment. “Were you?” 

Bruce sighed and sat up, sticky and sweaty and gross, but ignoring it, just needing a little distance to say what he needed to say.  

“You know my dad is – well, he’s abusive. Really, physically abusive, and...” Tony reached out for him, grabbed his hand and pressed it to his lips as he listened. “It doesn’t matter it’s just –”

“It does matter,” Tony interrupted but Bruce shook his head. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce reiterated, “but he did and said a lot of shit to me that always made me feel like, I don't know, that it would just be easier for me not to think about it.”

“So you  _ are _ bi?” Tony said after a minute, clearly not accepting that half answer even though it was the truth.

“I don’t know, Tony,” Bruce answered morosely. “I guess? Probably. I just know I like women enough that I’ve never really let myself think too much about it but I – I like you too.” 

“You  _ like _ me?” Tony teased, obviously pleased, and Bruce leaned over to push his shoulder a little as he laughed. 

“You’re hot, okay? Mr. Modesty?” 

It felt good to admit it out loud and Bruce loved seeing Tony grinning at him. Tony poked one finger into his shoulder and pushed him back. 

“If I had known you felt that way this would’ve happened much sooner.”

Bruce was startled. “Really?” 

“Oh man, buddy,” Tony laughed, laying back in the pillow. “When we met? And I was an absolute slut? I wanted it  _ so _ bad.” 

“Me?” Bruce was still completely shocked, not even able to blush because it was so far beyond what he thought of as probable that his mind just blanked, he couldn’t trigger an emotional response. 

He felt like maybe Tony would think he was playing it up, but it truly never occurred to him that Tony looked at him twice. They were both in Diff Eq together as freshman and Tony was always bugging him about studying together and Bruce was anxious to make friends so he went along but he didn’t really think about it beyond Tony being a generally friendly and often obnoxious person. Certainly he didn’t think Tony was  _ interested _ in him. Not... like that. Like  _ this _ . 

“I literally couldn’t have been more obvious,” Tony replied, still laughing. “I flat out invited you to a gay club with me but you had something else you had to do that day.”

“No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” Tony cut him off. “I asked if you wanted to go to Machine and everyone knows the bar over it is called Ramrod – I wasn’t exactly being subtle here, baby.”

“Oh my God,” Bruce realized with a sinking feeling, covering his face in embarrassment as he recalled the incident, completely and obviously blowing Tony off for a research paper. If he had shown up to a gay club with Tony then? He really didn’t know what would have happened. 

“I think it was only a week or two later before I met Pepper,” Tony mused, his words drifting off, going to a place Bruce couldn’t follow. 

It would be the next semester before he met Betty. Another year before Tony asked if they wanted to try to get into an apartment together.  Their friendship had been a permanent fixture in his life for almost four years now. The idea that it could have gone a completely different direction... Bruce didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You wanna get a massage?” 

“We can’t just do  _ this _ again?” Bruce asked, still feeling loose despite the seriousness of conversation. 

“Have you ever  _ had _ a massage?” he asked, knowing full well Bruce hadn’t. “You’ll like it.” 

“We’ll see.”

“But yes,” Tony said, sitting up and kissing him with a smirk, “obviously we will be doing  _ this _ again.”

Bruce showered as Tony called down to have them booked and Tony showered as Bruce searched the restaurants near them for brunch. They ended up at a little bistro on a second level balcony ordering mimosas and eggs benedict and watching the people pass by below, completely unaware that they were there.

It was like everything was different now, now that it was out in the open. Tony had completely relaxed. He was chatting aimlessly about a podcast on entropy he had listened to before they left, slouched back in his seat, holding his glass loosely in his hand and making lazy gestures with it. Bruce listened with one leg resting easily against Tony’s under the table, savoring brunch slowly. Maybe he had relaxed too. But it was easier now that they were on the same page.

“Hey,” Tony said and Bruce looked up. “Let me take your picture.”

Bruce huffed. “Why?” 

“‘Cause,” Tony replied, grinning in a way that Bruce knew he was going to capitulate to – though he expected Tony to have to work a little harder than that. 

“Fine,” he shrugged grumpily, grabbing his glass like some kind of shield and Tony laughed as he squared him up. 

“Come on, baby,” Tony rumbled and Bruce couldn’t help but smile shyly, not used to being talked to like that, while he heard the phone click several times. 

Bruce watched as he flipped through the pictures, smiling, and if that made him happy, then fine. But... 

“Don’t post that,” Bruce said and Tony laughed. 

“You haven’t even seen it!” 

“It doesn’t matter, I don’t want –”

But Tony cut him off. 

“I want them to see you happy.”

Bruce paused, what he was going to say dying on his tongue, and instead of arguing he picked up his glass and swallowed back orange juice and champagne. Happy. He couldn’t argue against that motive, even if in his heart it was a little more spiteful. 

“I talked to her, you know,” Bruce said quietly. “The other day.” 

Tony seemed somewhat surprised – by the fact that they’d talked or because he hadn’t told him, Bruce wasn’t sure.

“She didn’t want to say it through text, but... you know.” 

For his part, Tony reached out across the table and Bruce placed his hand in his. Tony’s thumb curled up over his knuckles, rubbing them slowly, and it felt nice. It felt nice not to face it alone. 

“Let’s get the check – I want to kiss the shit out of you.” 

Bruce laughed a little awkwardly but it made him feel good too and he threw back the rest of his drink as Tony scanned the area for their waitress. 

The hotel wasn’t that far but as they walked back Tony grabbed his hand and pulled him close in the middle of the boardwalk, kissing him on the mouth. 

“Stop,” Bruce tried to argue but Tony just wrapped his arm around his waist instead. 

“Why?” he asked back, lips against his mouth, and frankly... Bruce didn’t have an answer. 

So he melted into the kiss instead of arguing, let it happen. This wasn’t MIT, where everyone knew Tony. This wasn’t Betty, who was reserved and hesitant when it came to public displays of affection. This was Miami and it was like Natasha had said – what happened here was staying here and no one cared if he kissed Tony shamelessly on the boardwalk. No one cared. 

“Look,” Tony said as he pulled away after a minute, leaving Bruce flushed and wanting more. But Tony was pulling out his phone and front facing the camera and holding it up, aiming it at them. 

At first Bruce was caught off guard, unhappy about it and unsure what the hell Tony was trying to do – but he watched as Tony turned and nuzzled his ear with his nose, lips ghosting at his jaw, and he started to laugh. Tony turned back to the camera with a big ass grin on his face and snapped a few pictures, bringing it down so that Bruce could see better. 

And it was like seeing that picture on the boat – completely shocking to him. He stared at himself like he was looking at someone else. Laughing, tucked up against Tony’s body, like he belonged there, like Tony was his. It was ridiculous. And instead of facing it, he turned his face into Tony’s neck, nipping at it, a little playful but a little more rough.

“You’re not posting that one,” he muttered and he could feel Tony’s laughter against his mouth. 

“Sure, big guy,” he replied, slipping his phone back in his pocket and nosing in for another kiss. “Whatever you want.”

When they finally made it back to the hotel, it wasn’t long before their appointment, and Tony made them leave their phones in the room and go down early. He’d told him not to be nervous, but Tony was obviously unaware of how much he could just not do that.  _ Everything _ Tony did made him nervous. 

Tony signed them in and Bruce stared at the clean, white space. Just like everything here, it was like nowhere Bruce had been before. But thankfully he had Tony, who grabbed his hand and led him back to the changing room. 

Watching Tony undress was still such a trigger for him that he turned away because this had to be one of the most inopportune moments to be sporting a boner and he managed to focus on his nervousness enough to avoid it. Tony handed him a robe, grinning. 

“You’re the best, you know that,” Tony said and Bruce slid the robe on, acting more irritated then he really was. 

“You better not do anything to sabotage me in there,” Bruce grumbled, suddenly imaging any of the hundred and fifty thousand ways Tony could turn him on – even laying on a table three feet away not touching him. 

“Me?” Tony asked in mock indignation. “I would  _ never _ .”

Bruce pinned him with an unamused look and Tony grinned, leaning in for a kiss but Bruce stopped him with a hand on his chest. 

“Already!” he accused and Tony laughed – but Bruce was grinning too. 

“I can’t believe this  _ blasphemy _ .” 

They walked out to the waiting area on a large private balcony and an employee fitted them with complimentary champagne as they waited and Bruce felt suitably ridiculous. But Tony looked so confident and comfortable and happy reclining in those ridiculous modern square couches, the sun bathing him in golden light, and Bruce had to swallow and look away – one of those hundred and fifty thousand things.

Thankfully it wasn’t a very long wait before a lady came to get them and take them back to their room and then Tony was showing him how to slip up under the proffered sheet and not for the first time on this trip Bruce couldn’t help but think how ridiculous rich people were.

It was relaxing though – the dim room, the soothing music, the faint smell of cedar and citrus, the fluffy pillow. Tony was there with his pretty, soft eyes watching him, smiling a little, and it made his heart soft too. 

Their massage therapists came in and Bruce deflected all the decisions to Tony. The warm oil felt good on his back and even if the hands were weird and uncomfortable at first, it didn’t take long before he grew accustomed to the touch. Tony was humming his appreciation, biting his lower lip, and while it was impossible not to feel that stirring in his gut, Bruce was slowly relaxing into a place where it didn’t even matter. He just closed his eyes and attempted to banish all thoughts of his friend next to him. 

Maybe eating raw food on the beach was and would always be some pretentious shit, but Bruce was beginning to see the appeal of this. It hurt in places but God did it feel good and by the time they were done he was on the verge of falling asleep and wanting nothing more than a nice long nap. 

He let Tony lead them back into the changing room, turning on the water hot for him and instructing him to rinse off the oil and even that felt good. Bruce knew he was standing in there too long and Tony peeked in, laughing. 

“You okay in there, buddy?” 

He blinked water out of his eyes and stared at him. “ _ That _ was a good idea.” 

“Come on, let’s go up and take a nap.”

Bruce didn’t remember vocalizing that desire and maybe he didn’t but he smiled at the thought anyway and turned off the shower, drying off and getting dressed. 

“Now you’ve really spoiled me,” he said, not even having the heart to be grumpy about it right then as they walked through the lobby. 

Tony had really gone out of his way to make this trip something they both needed. Even without... everything else. Bruce could never repay him for that. Monetarily, certainly not. But Tony never really made him feel bad about it either. Not that Betty had ever  _ tried _ to make him feel bad exactly but... 

Tony leaned up against him in the elevator, resting his head against his, pressed up against him. 

“I like to give people things.” 

And for a minute, Bruce just stared at their reflection in the mirrored surface of the elevator and was struck by that. Tony did like to give people things. And it wasn’t... He didn’t say – I like to give  _ you _ things. Or – people like me to give them things. Or that people expected him to or even that he could because he was rich. He just  _ liked _ to. No strings attached. It wouldn’t matter how rich he was or whether he had much of anything at all to give – he would still do it. And Bruce was one of those people he wanted to give to, clearly, but so were Natasha and Clint and he'd just met them. It was totally selfless and absolutely selfish at the exact same time. He had no expectations, it just made him feel good. And that struck Bruce as endearingly sincere and he followed Tony out of the elevator, feeling dumb and smitten and completely willing to blame it on the way his body felt after that massage. 

Bruce flopped down on the bed without even bothering to touch the sheets or the pillows, letting his head sink in, watching Tony as he lay down alongside him. He reached out and touched his fingertips to Tony’s face, his smile. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, not knowing what else to say but feeling it so deeply in himself at that moment he couldn’t not say anything.

“Shh,” Tony murmured back, sitting up just slightly to lean over and press his lips to Bruce’s in a chaste little kiss. 

**

When Bruce awoke he was disoriented, hearing Tony laughing from far away. And it took a minute but he realized Tony was on the balcony with the door half shut talking to... someone. On the phone – right.

“Yeah, I’m okay though, really. Bruce is with me and he’s... I mean we always have a good time together but it’s been really great. He’s just...” 

There was a pause and Bruce’s concentration focused upon hearing his name, even though he knew that was rude as hell.

“What do you mean? I didn’t – no. I mean, it’s complicated.”

Bruce was trying to figure out who he was talking to. His mom already knew he was here. Rhodey?

“It just feels good and he – you know how I’ve felt about him. No, I’m not letting my feelings – Christ, you’re so negative! He’s complicit too.” 

Bruce hated the idea that Tony had told Rhodey about them and that he was forced to defend it too but then Rhodey was smart. Maybe he guessed. 

“I don’t know, man, I know registration starts soon but I don’t want to go back.” 

Bruce hated to hear that but he knew it was hard as hell to change Tony’s mind when he had it made up. Rhodey must’ve been trying though, because there was a long pause then and Bruce closed his eyes again, didn’t want to Tony to catch him listening.

“I know, I know – I’ll figure it out. I appreciate you, you know that right?” Pause. “I know man – I love you too. Bye.”

Bruce pretended to be just waking up as Tony walked in, rubbing his eyes and turning over on his back. Despite feeling some distress at listening in to Tony’s conversation, his body still felt fantastic in a way it hadn’t in a very long time and it was hard to be too distressed. 

“You’re up!” Tony observed as he walked back into the bedroom. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” 

“No,” Bruce lied, motioning to Tony to come over – and he did. 

Something about that conversation bothered Bruce and it was that... he was complicit.  _ Am I taking advantage of you? _  Tony had to know that now. He  _ was _ complicit. He wasn't just some waif being subjected helplessly to Tony's whims. He wanted it, too. If anything, he was taking as much advantage of Tony as Tony was of him. Probably even more.

Bruce wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, pressing his face into his stomach, and Tony chuckled, stroking at his hair. 

“Was thinking about tacos,” Tony said and Bruce grinned into his shirt. Of course Tony was thinking about food. “There’s a divey little Latin bar with tacos down the way, off the boardwalk. That’s like  _ the _ quintessential Miami experience right there.”

“Okay,” Bruce agreed easily, not really caring. 

Tony was patient and let him lay against him like that for a while until finally he dropped his arms because he couldn't just hold him like that forever so he let him go. 

“I have to get ready,” he said, ruffling Bruce’s hair as he pulled away. 

Tony went into the bathroom to do whatever he had to do to his hair to make it look equally as attractive to Bruce as it did any other time and Bruce scrolled through his phone. Tony had posted a picture of him in one of those massage robes with his champagne and a cocky look in his eyes and Bruce couldn’t help this dumb little grin bubbling up from his stomach when he saw it. Then there were a bunch of posts in art museums in Paris where Pietro and his sister posed with mocking captions. Steve and his bros built an epic snowman and had a series of selfies with it. Then there was the post of him at brunch looking absolutely ridiculous in his own opinion and Quill posted beneath it  _ what the hell, bruce smiles? _ and his own damn roommate Pietro had to post a string of crying smiley faces beneath that comment. Yeah, he thought he looked ridiculous, but is that how people saw him? Is that what Tony meant? 

He was thankful Tony walked out then so he didn't have to think about it. All of this was too much. Miami had to stay  _ here _ . Rhodes, Quill, Pietro – all of them knowing or maybe not knowing but seeing him like this, so vulnerable, was too much. 

"Hey baby – you ready?" 

Bruce couldn't ask Tony to stop, though. Every word died in his throat when he heard that voice, took his hand in his, and instead of saying anything at all Bruce kissed him as he stood, trying not to be as needy as he felt right then. But the smile on Tony's lips, the reassurance, felt good and he leaned into it, took it for himself and let it bolster him.

They weren't in a rush so they walked. The afternoon was hotter than they had experienced so far and the breeze off the ocean felt good as the sun made its way slowly to the horizon. Despite his uncomfortable phone conversation, Tony was in a good mood, and Bruce hoped it wasn't just a show. He was still bothered by how easy it was for Tony to fake a good mood. He didn't want Tony to fake it with him. 

But Bruce didn't think that was the case. He lead them into pretty much exactly what Bruce had imagined when Tony said a divey Latin bar. It was mostly a patio with dancing and a long rowdy bar. There were tables between the two that were more wire frame patio tables then restaurant tables, packed in close. Big white bulb lights were strung between the roof and the palm trees and street light poles that flanked the patio-slash-dance area. The beer list on the table was mostly in Spanish as were the conversations around them and the music, too. But somehow despite all this Tony still seemed in his element. Bruce wasn't sure any place existed that Tony didn't seem comfortable in. 

He ordered them some extensive list of tacos and a pitcher of whatever was on sale in his halting Spanish, even though they probably could have taken the order in English. 

“I thought I’d message Nat, see if they wanted to come out for a drink,” Tony said as he poured them a glass and Bruce nodded, taking a grateful sip. 

It was hot in the crowded space and Tony was sitting next to him, not across, watching people filter onto the dance floor. Their knees were touching beneath the table and Tony threw his arm around his shoulder, his thumb rubbing slowly against his skin. He still felt good and relaxed and this kind of casual physical contact and the heat made him a little hard, honestly, though he tried to ignore it. 

“Just so you know,” Tony started, looking away, and Bruce could swear he saw him blush, even in the dim lighting, “I’m really into anal.”

Bruce thought he was going to choke on his beer, feeling it in his sinuses and sputtering out a cough. 

“Excuse me?” he asked in disbelief as Tony shifted, removing his arm and covering his mouth as he laughed. 

“You haven’t asked!” he said through peels of laughter. 

“I was supposed to ask that?” Bruce asked, eyes wide as he wiped his mouth. 

“Everyone asks that!” 

“ _ Who _ ?” 

“Every guy asks,” Tony replied. “Like, literally – every one. Every guy.”

Bruce turned back to his beer and buried his face in it, chugging it back. It was something he truly hadn’t thought about. Everything they had done had felt good – he didn’t really see the need to push it any further than that. He’d always deferred to what Betty had wanted. Maybe there was some interest there, just because it was there and he’d never done it, but he would never have asked. Not – not like that. 

“You want that?” Bruce asked, staring at his nearly empty glass so he didn’t have to make eye contact. 

He could feel Tony shrug next to him. “Only if you do. I just wanted you to know.”

Tony refilled his glass and Bruce looked over at him. “Maybe next time don’t throw something like that out there with a ‘just so you know’?” 

Tony laughed and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Whatever you’d like.” 

“More like whatever  _ you’d _ like,” Bruce mumbled good-naturedly and Tony ran his fingers through his hair, laughing, when their tacos were delivered. 

They were all sorts of things Bruce had never had in a taco before but they also smelled amazing so he wasn’t about to complain. Whatever the first one he picked up was had soft, delicious pork and crema and avocado and roasted peppers and it was fantastic.

“You know I was thinking the other day,” Bruce said as he polished it off with beer, “the most ‘ethnic’ food I had before moving to Boston was tacos.” 

Tony cocked his head at him curiously, like he was actually eager to hear Bruce’s dumb stories about being poor – but not in a voyeuristic way, like Bruce always expected. In a truly curious, I want to know more about  _ you _ way that made Bruce uncomfortable in a completely different way. No one was really interested in  _ him _ . Betty had been – at first, anyway. But... she always seemed to miss the point. It was hard to feel like opening up  _ again _ , trusting someone with all of that  _ again _ , only to be disappointed  _ again _ . 

Still, though – he liked having Tony’s attention. He liked his eyes on him, his focus on him, telling him something he didn’t know. 

“I mean, my mom would just make them with ground beef and Old El Paso seasoning and some sour cream and a box of those hard shells but it always seemed fun and different,” he admitted with a self deprecating laugh. “These are a lot better though.’

“What about Chinese?” Tony asked, truly curious, but Bruce shook his head. 

“We never had the money for it. Even if we did, there weren’t a lot of Chinese restaurants outside Dayton to begin with – not good ones, like in Boston.” 

“That’s so hard for me to imagine,” Tony admitted as he paused mid-taco, considering it. “In Manhattan we’ve got anything you could ever want. And it’s  _ cheap _ , too. Of course the cost of living is insane, but you know, if you want to run down for some stir fry at two in the morning...”

“Yeah, trust me – once you leave a place like where I grew up, it’s hard to ever want to go back.” 

“I don’t really want to go back to Manhattan either,” Tony admitted and Bruce nudged him with his knee in a show of support. 

“You don’t have to.” 

Tony gave him a strained smile and Bruce didn’t say anything else for a minute, letting it go. Whatever struggle Tony had in Manhattan it had to be leagues better than a run down suburb with a couple of restaurants and a hell of a lot of poor, old people underwater in houses they could barely afford. But he wasn’t one to judge that which he didn’t know anything about, so he let it go. The sentiment between them was the same. 

“Remember when you guys all decided to go to that Shawarma Falafel place? That was the name of it, right?” Bruce asked with a laugh after another taco and some more beer. “Hand to God I had never heard either of those words in my life before that day.”

Tony grinned at him. “I’d never had it before either, actually.”

“But at least you had an idea of what it was! I’d never had hummus, which you can buy at an average grocery store, let alone baba ganouj or grape leaves or – jeez –  _ lamb _ .”

“Oh man, but that was  _ so _ good...” Tony trailed off, lost in a memory of that meal and Bruce hummed his agreement. 

It was good. That whole day had been good. The fall semester had just begun and everyone had returned to campus and there was that fleeting feeling of freedom before coursework got too intense. And Tony took him and Steve and Rhodey straight into downtown where Bruce had rarely been and they raced swan boats in the public gardens and went to see the sacred cod in the state house and had that Lebanese food and did an escape room and ended up in a bar doing shots.

“Remember you got so drunk we had to leave your car and Lyft out of downtown?” Bruce said and Tony laughed. 

“Fuck, yeah, Rhodey was so pissed at me.”

“But he was too drunk to drive too,” Bruce pointed out and Tony shook his head. 

“He’s a mean drunk,” Tony replied petulantly but Bruce snorted and shook his head – knowing that was a gross exaggeration. 

“No, he’s just mean to  _ you _ when you are supposed to be the DD and you get trashed.”

“Honestly no one should ever have given me that responsibility,” Tony laughed and Bruce agreed. “I had literally  _ just _ turned 21.”

“It wasn’t that far anyway, really,” Bruce pointed out as Tony motioned to the waitress for another pitcher. “But Steve called shotgun and we were stuck in the back with you in the middle.”

“Oh my god,  _ yeah _ , I forgot about that.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bruce laughed. “You were gone. You had your arms around us going on about how happy you were to see us and I don’t think even Rhodey could’ve stayed mad at you if he’d wanted.”

“I wasn’t  _ that _ gone,” Tony replied. “I remember you patting the side of my face telling me how happy you were to see me too.”

“What?” Bruce asked, thinking back to it, but he had been pretty trashed too. 

“You can ask Rhodey if you don’t believe me,” Tony shrugged with a grin. “He couldn’t get over it. He laughed about that for weeks.”

“Jeez – why does Rhodey’s judgement feel worse than anyone else's?” Bruce asked after a beat and Tony laughed. 

“See?” Tony swallowed back his drink as the new pitcher arrived. “He’s great though. He’s been there for me through everything.”

Bruce watched as Tony refilled his glass from the new pitcher and picked up another taco. He stared back down at his own, thinking about how close Tony and Rhodey were since they were roommates freshman year, thinking about their phone conversation earlier. He could practically hear Rhodes on the other end of the line, telling Tony he was being an idiot, that Bruce was a mistake – a mistake that no one should indulge in. Even if what they were doing was clearly not the best idea – rebounds with friends were to be avoided for a reason – it still hurt to be thought of that way. It always hurt. 

“Does... Does Rhodey even  _ like _ me?” Bruce asked soberly and Tony set down his glass, looking over at him, though Bruce couldn’t stand to look back. 

“Of course Rhodey  _ likes _ you,” Tony replied, bumping his shoulder affectionately. “All my friends like you. Hell, my mom likes you and she hasn’t even met you.”

Bruce frowned, not feeling much better. “She should reserve her judgement until she does.”

“Is this about fucking Quill?” 

Bruce was honestly surprised by his perception, though he didn’t know why he should be, and he looked over at him then. 

“Quill is a dumbass,” Tony said emphatically and for some reason that did make him feel a little better. “You are amazing, I’ve always thought that, and we all know I’m way the fuck smarter than Quill. Here –”

Tony pulled out his phone and lifted his glass for a selfie. Bruce huffed out a sigh and Tony turned to look at him, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile when Tony was kissing him. Every time his stomach did something funny and he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t. And when Tony turned back to the camera Bruce managed a smile, holding his glass up to Tony’s in the poor light, letting him take a picture. 

“I just want everyone to see you the way I see you,” Tony murmured as he leaned in to kiss him again and Bruce yielded easily, even though despite Tony’s good intentions Bruce wasn’t sure he wanted everyone to see him the way he wanted Tony to see him. 

“Can we sit here or is this a private party?” came Clint’s voice from behind them, intentionally running into Tony’s shoulder as he and Natasha made their way to the other side of their table, laughing. 

“How was your dinner?” Tony asked, only the flighty smile on his face betraying his embarrassment as he glanced through the room for their waitress to get more glasses. 

Natasha gave Bruce a particularly pointed look as he blushed into his own glass, trying to ignore her. 

“Probably the best steak I’ve had in my life,” Clint said as Natasha nodded in agreement. 

“He didn’t even need steak sauce,” she teased, elbowing him as they laughed. 

“She wouldn’t even let me order it medium well,” Clint said and Tony made a sound of exaggerated disbelief. 

“I should fucking hope not.”

“I’ll always let you know what’s best for you,” Natasha said with a laugh as their waitress came by, dropping off glasses and asking if they would like a second pitcher. 

The music grew louder as it got later and more people began to dance instead of eat and Bruce watched the way Tony watched the dance floor, moving his shoulders ever so subtly to the music. Natasha had already let Clint know she expected he was going to join her out there when he was sufficiently tipsy enough to dance and Bruce nudged Tony after a minute. Tony looked over at him, grabbing his hand and wrapping their fingers together now that the table was clear of tacos, making Bruce feel self-conscious and lovely at exactly the same time. 

“You should go out there too,” he said and Tony kind of grinned but killed it quickly around the rim of his glass. 

“I don’t know. Would you join me?”

Bruce blinked, shocked by the suggestion. “I – I don’t really  _ dance _ ... But I’d enjoy watching you.” 

Partially that was true – as Shayla at that bar on Christmas would attest to – and partially he was just mortified by the idea of dancing in public with another man. That was too much, too fast for someone who had constantly worked to deny his attraction to men, even to himself. But Tony didn’t seem to question his motives too much, because his grin was back.

“Would you?” 

“Of course,” Bruce answered easily, squeezing his hand a little. “What did I say earlier? Mr. Modesty?”

So after another drink they left him for the dance floor, Tony giving him a kiss on the back of his hand before letting it go, and Bruce refilled his beer to watch. And at first, it was fine. He did like watching Tony dance and it was funny to see him steal Natasha from Clint and then a few beats later drag Clint into his arms, rolling his hips against him, laughing with them. Bruce wasn’t the kind of person who required being involved to feel it – sitting on the sidelines was just as enjoyable. And this was fine. 

But as he finished his glass and refilled it again, things had already started to go downhill. Tony was a popular draw on the dance floor for other women – and Bruce could see why. His hair was starting to fall over across his forehead, sweaty and glistening. His shirt clung to his body in a way that left little to the imagination, outlining his narrow waist, his muscular chest. He moved his body so naturally, so effortlessly to the beat it felt sinful just to watch him, and Bruce was hard and humming with alcohol and he couldn’t take his eyes from him. 

The problem was – neither could anyone else. At first Tony kind of deflected advances – but it’s hard to dance without a partner, and whatever, it’s not like they were a couple. Even if they were, Bruce would never have been so possessive as to say ‘I’m not going to dance with you, but you’re not allowed to dance with anyone else either.’ He might have felt it, but he generally tried to tamp down that kind of jealousy. It always felt like the kind of thing that gave his mother bruises and he hated feeling like that. Plus he knew Tony was drunk – he was too. And he knew it was different when you’re drunk and wanting to have fun. Your inhibitions are lowered, your thought process slower, more narrow-minded, and Tony eventually gave up and gave in, welcoming some blonde in a skin-tight dress to wrap her arms around him.

Bruce sat there waiting, chugging back beer, feeling his frustration increase with every grind of his hip into hers. Tony’s hands, which only so few hours ago were on his body, were now on hers, feeling at her thigh, her waist, holding her close as they moved in sync to the beat. Bruce swallowed hard, everything in him screaming to look away, get over it, not let this kind of thing control him when Tony wasn’t his, he wasn’t his, he could never be his... But fuck if it didn’t turn his gut to embers. 

His knuckles were white on the glass as she tried to kiss him. Her hand all up in his sweaty hair, trying to pull his head down into a kiss, but he pulled away, shaking his head, saying something in her ear that clearly disappointed her. It didn’t matter though, Bruce was livid. He wanted to mark Tony, possess him – make sure it was clear exactly who Tony belonged to... even though he didn’t. He couldn’t get his mind to think clearly about it though – horny and angry and drunk. He just wanted Tony to himself. 

And then a few minutes later Tony was walking off the dance floor and Bruce stared after him, following him with his eyes, guessing he was headed to the bathroom. Something dark came over him and Bruce followed, waiting outside the door, waiting in this dark little hallway where the bass thumped so hard he could physically feel it, waiting with no idea of what his intention even was he just, he just needed, he needed... 

“Bruce?” Tony asked as he stepped out, clearly surprised but pleased to see him, smiling, ready to give him a hug or something but Bruce, in what he could only describe as a complete out of body experience, pushed him further down the hall, wrapped his hand around his throat, and crushed his lips to his own in a blistering kiss. 

Had Bruce been expecting anything at all, it would have been resistance, but what he got instead was Tony completely melting under him, moaning shamelessly into his mouth as his body broke down beneath him. 

He was grinding his hips so hard into Tony’s he didn’t think he could stop but there was no reason to because Tony’s were pressing back into him, moving with him, his hands were on his shoulders, on his back, under his shirt, everywhere he fucking  _ wanted _ them to be and it felt so good to have him like this, underneath him, pinned there where he couldn’t escape. The friction felt exquisite and almost too painful through jeans but he couldn’t get enough, he couldn’t stop, Tony was moaning out curse words swallowed by Bruce’s throat and Bruce could feel Tony’s dick hard against his even through their pants and Tony’s chest was heaving against his, sweaty and hot and it felt so fucking  _ good _ and – and – 

And before Bruce even realized it his knees were weak and his body was shaking and he moaned low in this throat as he came, completely unintentionally, not even able to appreciate it. His hand fell from Tony’s throat as he buried his face in his sweaty neck, spent and humiliated and Tony was laughing at him breathily. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Bruce,” he said, one hand on his head, fingers running through his sweaty hair. “That was hot and all but now I’ve got to deal with  _ this _ .” 

Bruce didn’t say anything, just let Tony slip out from under him and go back into the bathroom where he was sure to be jerking off, and Bruce turned around and leaned back heavily into the wall. Christ – what in the hell was wrong with him? Jealous and drunk and completely unhinged. Why did Tony make him feel this way? Was it the fact that he wasn’t his that made it even harder to deal with the fact that he wasn’t his? Bruce's head hurt and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to ground himself as everything swirled around him and he just wanted to crawl into bed and throw the sheets over his head and not think about anything for a while. 

Someone walked past on the way to the bathroom, giving him a curious look but Bruce just closed his eyes so he didn’t have to think about it. This was humiliating. Everything was humiliating. The cum in his pants and the way he felt and just... everything.

“Hey,” Tony said as he rejoined him, leaning back against the wall, a cocky grin on his face still sheened in sweat. “You know, as much as I appreciated that, next time? You could just dance with me instead of getting your tighty-whities all in a twist.”

Tony was laughing, clearly drunk and amused as hell, but Bruce’s sense of humor was non-existent in his disgrace and he just muttered out “shut up” before going into the bathroom himself to wipe himself off as best he could.

When he walked back out Tony wasn’t there any more and he figured he went back to the dance floor. Bruce wasn’t sure he could take that scene right then and he blew past everyone at the bar to stumble out into the street. At least the air was somewhat cooler out there and he stared at his location, unsure of where he was but knowing if he followed the sound of the ocean he’d hit the boardwalk and then he could head back to the hotel from there. 

He felt a strong sense of success and relief when he found the boardwalk and the long walk helped him get his shit together enough to message Tony that he was headed back to the hotel but not to worry about him. What he really needed was some space, some time, some  _ something _ to figure out why he was feeling such big fucking feelings for Tony but he was drunk and it was hard to string together one thought with another and all he could feel was Tony on his lips, beneath his hips, with his tongue in his mouth and his hands in his hair and his legs between his and every part of Bruce was burning up just to think of holding him again when he came back to bed tonight. 

What was he supposed to do? He was going to be crushed when this eventually had to end, when they left, when they went home to Boston but it was like – he knew he couldn’t physically extract himself from Tony now. He wanted Tony to want him and fuck but he  _ wanted _ him too and – oh God, hadn’t he proven that already? 

Bruce was so damn thankful when he saw the hotel that his eyes teared up involuntarily and he just wanted to be face down in a pillow and not have to think anymore. 

He managed his way back to the room, stripped down and stood in the shower for a minute because he felt like he should, then toweled himself off ineffectively and fell into bed, everything feeling like it was bearing down on him at once. And the only thing he wanted to do was feel for his phone where he threw it on the bed and pull up that picture of him and Tony on the boat and stare at it, at his smile, how surreal it seemed, how happy he was. Why did Tony have to make him feel so damn happy?

Though he didn’t recollect falling asleep, he did hear Tony come in, laughing about something Clint did followed by an entirely too loud ‘shit, sorry – you’re asleep.’ But by the time he was undressed and slipping into bed Bruce was ready and he gestured with one arm half-asleep for Tony to get in there and he climbed across the bed into his arms. Bruce wrapped his arms around him and kissed his forehead clumsily with his eyes closed but it didn’t matter – even on the cusp of sleep he was just so damn happy Tony was exactly where he was supposed to be.


	11. Sunday, December 30

Tony was snoring quietly when Bruce woke up, looking completely and utterly at peace. Bruce felt like shit but he got up, used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, threw back some aspirin and a bottle of water then sat back down in bed, watching Tony sleep. He must have been somewhere deep because he was perfectly still except for his chest, rising and falling gently, not even his eyelashes fluttering. And staring at him in the silence, Bruce found he still felt overwhelmed by everything he was feeling for the other man. 

But somehow sleep and the light of day made things clearer, even with a headache and a dry throat. There was no going back from this. It was too late, too many bad decisions ago now. But he didn’t have to be jealous, he didn’t have to be angry or scared or... whatever. He just didn’t have to think about it that hard. When they went home, well – things might never be ‘normal’ again but things would be different. It wouldn’t be like here, here where Tony just took him places and paid for things, here where they shared a bed and woke up every morning together and fell asleep in each other’s arms, here where no one knew who they were and no one cared. 

In Boston it would be back to separate rooms, to his lab job, to his coursework and his thesis. In Boston it would be back to ramen and his roommates and his friends and other distractions. It really didn’t matter what happened here, because it would be completely different back in Boston. It didn’t matter how happy Tony made him or what he felt, responsibility would always outweigh his personal feelings. Always. 

And while in some ways that realization made him sad – and why wouldn’t it? this was wonderful – it also made him feel like it was okay to let it all go. It really _didn’t_ _matter_ what happened here. Boston and IAP was only a week away and then he would have to take all of this and put it behind him. He was almost through, almost there, almost had a degree from MIT and the ability to get a good job, to help his mom, to change his life – and he couldn’t give all of that up for anything... certainly not Tony.

But it was too late now to change what they had done. And it was too early to pack it away. All he could do was exist in this moment where his stomach was constantly in knots and his knees were weak and Tony made him happier than he had felt in a damn long time. 

Carefully, carefully, not wanting to wake him up, Bruce slid up next to his body, curling up against his side, closing his eyes and pressing his face into his rib cage and letting himself smother in the warm, comforting scent of Tony’s skin. It just felt so good to be there, next to him – and there was no reason to deny that. 

Bruce didn’t even realize he’d fallen back asleep until Tony was stroking his fingers from his hair down his face, so tenderly that at first Bruce didn’t even want to open his eyes, just wanted to feel Tony there, touching him gently. 

But eventually he knew he was going to betray himself and he scooted forward, throwing his arm around Tony’s waist and putting his face into his side. Tony chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said softly. “I should have known better, I didn’t mean to –”

“No,” Bruce interrupted, his voice muffled by Tony’s skin. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was being so shitty, you can dance with whoever you want, I know that.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Tony said, his fingers tangled in Bruce’s hair, pulling at it, a thing he didn’t even realized he liked but that felt amazing when Tony was doing it, “but I guess I just didn’t think you were  _ that _ into me.”

“Who is this?” Bruce joked with a laugh, burrowing deeper into his stomach. “Tony Stark the bike mechanic talking?” 

“Maybe.”

It was weird to hear Tony be so uncertain and Bruce sat up, looking at him looking away, and he couldn’t believe he was fooled again by Tony’s confident exterior. What was he supposed to say? Who  _ wouldn’t _ be absolutely charmed by him? In spite of or maybe because of its impermanence, Bruce was. Bruce was smitten.

“Tony,” he said softly, taking his hand in his, locking their fingers together, pressing his nose into the side of his face, nuzzling it gently. “You have me, okay?” His lips whispered against Tony’s jaw. “You have me.”

Bruce kissed his jaw softly, his neck. He kissed his shoulder, lifted his hand and kissed the back of it, his wrist. He kissed his collar bone, his chest, pushed him back down on the bed and kissed his other shoulder back down to the center of his chest. Tony was watching him as he kissed slowly down his body, down to his waist, pressing tender kisses into his hip, moving to the other side, feeling Tony’s breathing get more shallow, more anxious – his dick hard and twitching at each pointed kiss.  

The little intake of breath Tony made, the way his stomach sucked in when Bruce pressed a feather-light kiss to the underside of his head made Bruce grin and he trailed kisses down his dick, knowing Tony wanted more, knowing Tony wanted it all – carefully biting down asking for it.

Then Bruce decided to stop teasing him and he took him in his mouth, listening with pleasure to the gasp Tony made, watching his fists ball in the sheets. 

“ _ Bruce, _ ” he sighed in relief as Bruce pressed at the underside with the flat of his tongue, stroking up it, feeling his appreciation. 

It was slow and methodical as he teased at him, tested him for reactions, approached it like a course project now that it wasn’t in the heat of the moment, learning just what made Tony beg for it. He was pretty sure they had both been more thoroughly fucked over the past few days then they had been in months, maybe years, so Tony wasn’t quick to come and he had time to explore just how to make him come apart. 

By the time he was wound so tight his words were coming out in slurs, Tony was sweating and Bruce was jerking him off with his hand into his mouth, creating warm, wet, friction, and he knew it was coming and he was nervous as hell. But he slid Tony’s dick back deep in his throat as it swelled in his mouth, as Tony’s cries grew desperate, and he wasn’t surprised when he came, just overwhelmingly pleased that he managed to make him come, that he managed to swallow, that Tony was panting in the sheets, sweat glistening across his chest, heaving. And he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to clear his mouth of the taste as he lay down next to Tony, propping himself up on one arm, stroking back his sweaty hair and running his thumb along Tony’s cheek. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony murmured, looking at him, his big eyes dark and lusty. “I guess a learning curve is nothing for you.”

Bruce chuckled as Tony grabbed his hand, holding it up under his chin, playing with his fingers.

“I didn’t get a full ride on a sports scholarship,” Bruce joked and Tony’s grin widened. 

“C’mere big guy,” he slurred, pulling him down into a kiss. “What do you want for breakfast? Or is it lunch already? I’ll take you anywhere.”

Bruce hesitated a minute and looked away before re-establishing eye contact. “Can we just order something in and keep doing this?” 

Tony absolutely beamed up at him and in one quick and sudden movement sat up and overtook him, pressing him back into the pillows and kissing him hard and thoroughly until he was breathless and star struck and he stared up at Tony’s grin when he finally let him go and felt his own lips curl up too. He kissed him again, quickly, before rolling over to grab the in-room menu. 

Bruce moved up to him, throwing his arm over his chest and nestling his head in next to Tony’s to review it with him. Tony laughed and was clearly pleased, pressing a kiss to his temple before turning back to the menu. It was already past ten but they decided on breakfast anyway, pancakes and eggs and yogurt and fruit, and while Tony placed the call Bruce kissed his stomach shamelessly and Tony tried not to laugh, grabbing his hair and trying to get him to stop but he couldn’t.

Then Tony slammed the phone down and tackled him, kissing him and kissing him and they made out until the food came and even then Tony was trying to get up and put on a robe and Bruce was trying to drag him back down into the bed to smother him with more kisses. 

They ate in bed watching  _ How it’s Made _ , stealing glances at one another and grinning and then laughing at how dumb they were being. But Bruce just felt so – he felt so  _ light _ when he looked at Tony. It was impossible not to grin. It was impossible not to  _ laugh _ . He was being ridiculous but he couldn’t help it and it felt so good. It felt so damn good. 

Tony mentioned that after lunch Natasha wanted to rent bikes and ride around the island and check out the botanical gardens and Bruce was fine with that as he owned a bike and used it almost daily in Boston so they’d finally picked an activity within his comfort zone.

“Do you want to take a shower together again?” Tony asked, all fake nonchalance as he scraped the last scoop of yogurt out of the dish. 

“Do you want another blow job?” Bruce asked with a cutting grin and Tony blushed. 

“No!” he denied as Bruce laughed at him, rolling his eyes. 

“Sure.”

“ _ Really _ !” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Tony set the bowl down on the platter and moved towards him. “I just want to –” he put his fingers in his hair, stroking through it, making Bruce shiver with the unanticipated intimacy “– wash your hair and –” he ran his fingers down his back, causing a ripple sensation in Bruce’s nerves “– and scrub your back and –” and then he moved forward and bit down on his neck hard, startling Bruce, causing him to cry out and nearly knock his plate off the bed as Tony sucked at his neck, giggling through his teeth in his skin. 

“What the fuck?” Bruce asked laughing, trying to push Tony off but Tony was tickling him now and Bruce was laughing as he tried to get him back. 

“The plate!” he warned through gasping breaths as Tony let him go to grab it and replace it on the platter, giving Bruce the opening he needed to pounce back on Tony, pushing him into the bed on his stomach, his chest on Tony’s back, his fingers in the curve of his hip and his lips on his neck as he pled for mercy, laughing.

“Truce and I’ll take a shower with you,” Bruce offered and Tony immediately capitulated, stopping his squirming as he cried out ‘yes! Truce!’

They lay there in bed, breathing hard, and Tony reached out for his hand. It was then that Bruce realized that he knew what it meant, exactly how he felt. He couldn’t articulate the words, and even if he could, he wouldn’t. But Tony rolled over as he caught his breath and drug himself the last few inches to capture Bruce’s lips again in a reverent kiss and Bruce knew what it was, he knew what he felt. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t say it, even to himself – it was still there. 

He followed Tony into the shower, letting him kiss him beneath the spray, letting him turn him around, lather his hair with that shampoo he could never place the scent of, that was just ‘Tony’ to him. Tony slid his soapy hands down his shoulders, down his back, to his sides. And Tony was pressed up against him, his chin on his shoulder, kissing it, deftly avoiding soap, and he could feel him hard against his ass, and he almost said something about Tony being a fucking liar but then Tony’s hand grabbed his dick and anything he was going to say got caught in his throat and swallowed back down with a moan. 

“Your turn,” Tony teased and Bruce just leaned back into him, grabbing at his other hand, holding it tight. 

“I don’t need a turn,” he managed out, bringing Tony’s hand up to his chest, loving the feeling of being wrapped in his arms more than anything.

“Of course you need a turn,” Tony laughed, biting his shoulder playfully, but Bruce grabbed the hand on his dick to stop him and turned around in his arms, looking him in the eyes. 

“I  _ don’t _ though,” he repeated, watching how Tony wanted to look away, embarrassed by how open he was being but trying hard not to be. 

Bruce knew it was now or never, that he wasn’t going to be able to keep up this level of brutal honesty beyond this moment, that as soon as they left the room he would start to shut down again, shut it out, and he just needed to say what Tony needed to hear as much as Bruce had needed him to kiss him again and again and again.

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything – ever,” he said, unable to understand how Tony could even think that given how much Tony had given  _ him _ but nevertheless he could see it in his eyes, the reflection of a feeling he felt constantly. “I  _ wanted _ to – okay? I wanted to make you feel good – no strings attached.”

Tony laughed, clearly self conscious about it, about Bruce’s undivided attention being on him, about how raw he was being. 

“Do you have  _ any _ idea how much that makes me  _ want _ to suck your dick right now?” Tony asked but it didn’t feel like a joke and he pressed a heated kiss to his mouth, sliding down his body to his knees, enveloping his dick in his mouth. 

Bruce leaned back into the wall, watching the way water hit Tony from all angles, running down his body, his eyes closed in reverence as he sucked him off, and it didn’t take long. He stared down at Tony as he drew away, smiling up at him, water droplets caught in his long lashes, framing his dark eyes, handsome as all hell, and he pulled him up into his arms, wrapping him up and burying his head against his and just holding him, wanting it to be this way forever but accepting that it couldn’t be – it wouldn’t be – and trying to just appreciate the feeling of Tony’s warm, solid body under his. 

But eventually he let Tony go to wash his hair and get the remaining shampoo out of his own and they got dressed and picked up the bed and checked to see if Natasha had messaged them. Tony went out on the balcony to fuck around on his phone and Bruce joined him, closing his eyes and letting the sound of the ocean and the warmth of the sun lull him into a false sense of normalcy. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me, babe,” Tony murmured next to him, letting the back of his hand brush against the back of Bruce’s, and Bruce hummed some kind of non-committal reply. “We’re going to have to meet Nat and Clint soon.”

“Feels nice,” Bruce mumbled back, resettling himself, fingers touching Tony’s gently. 

“Yeah,” Tony agreed softly, knowing that Tony knew he wasn’t just talking about the warmth on his skin but everything – all of it. “It does.”

Despite what he’d said, Tony let him veg a little longer, floating on the cusp of sleep where everything felt good but even then, when Tony woke him up, brushing his hair back from his forehead and kissing it lightly, it was still good. 

They met Natasha and Clint downstairs and got bikes at one of those rental stations all over South Beach and started out by heading next door to Collins Park. Bruce was surprised Tony hadn’t already walked him through there given its proximity to the hotel and the weird art installations replete throughout. Tony insisted they stop and get a picture of Natasha and Clint biking around the gayest stack of boulders Bruce had ever seen, painted bright rainbow colors.

It was surreal though, biking through palm tree lined pathways backed by luxury hotels – so unlike the little brownstone and skyscraper lined streets of Boston. Biking was a necessity for him there while here it was a leisure activity, Tony riding alongside him, hands on his knees, talking about art like it was easy. Everything was easy here, though. Everything. 

They followed Natasha to the botanical gardens, parking their bikes at the entrance and walking through.   it being the middle of winter, the gardens were still blooming, flowering trees over their heads, and orchids, and a hundred different species of palm tree, and butterflies floating lazily through. And Tony looped his arm through Bruce’s with a goofy grin, walking him along the pathway to this little Japanese garden, pointing out the koi fish and turtles as they went. It was silly but Bruce played into it, patting him on the arm and making up ridiculous backstories for everything they saw, delighting Tony. 

“Those fish came here as foreign exchange students but now they have to work in this pond to afford a ticket home, over half of their minimum wages going to pay room and board – truly upsetting,” Bruce deadpanned and Tony tried not to lose it.

“And they don’t even have the fingers to set up a GoFundMe,” Tony replied, shaking his head and clicking his tongue as Bruce bit down on his bottom lip.

“And I thought I was weird,” Clint laughed as he and Natasha came up behind them, rejoining them.

Even though they were friends and he knew Clint was teasing it was the kind of thing that would have eaten at him privately had he been with Betty – but it didn’t bother Bruce now. He had a strange sense of confidence in Tony now, knowing Tony was just as into him as he was into Tony. And it didn’t matter what anyone else said – Tony was beaming at him, holding his hand, and he didn’t care. Tony only had eyes for him. 

The realization made his insides feel like a Dali painting and the whole way back to the entrance he was sure he was blushing. 

Thankfully they biked their way back down south to the far end of Lummus park and though they had walked through parts of it before, there was something different and beautiful about biking it, with the ocean to the right, blowing a gentle breeze through a hot December.

Bruce thought back to sitting in that McDonald’s and Tony saying how Miami was nothing like Boston, how the water was so blue and how the sand stretched for miles and how great it was and yeah he had thought at the time that Tony was probably right, but he’d really had no idea. He watched as Tony took dumb Boomerangs of himself and them, smirking in the background of the video clip. He’d  _ really _ had no idea. 

They found a burger truck towards the top end of the park and got burgers and beer and sat at a cheap table set up outside the truck, the sun starting to set, the sky faintly starting to turn pink over the palms behind them. 

“What are you guys doing tomorrow?” Natasha asked and they looked at each other and shrugged. Nothing about this trip had been that well planned. “It’s New Years Eve so we were going to try to find somewhere with a countdown.” 

“Oh, that’s a  _ great _ idea,” Tony agreed and Natasha pulled out her phone and they conferred on options while they ate. 

“So you ready to go back to Boston?” Clint asked him with a knowing grin and Bruce mock glared around his burger. 

“Not really,” he said as he swallowed. “But I’ve got one more semester and full ride so it would be a pretty big waste not to finish at this point.”

“Oh?” Clint said, eyebrows raised, and Bruce guessed he had never shared that about himself. “I couldn’t really afford to go to college,” he admitted. “That’s why I went to tech school – and even then I’ll be paying off the loans for that for a while. Georgia has a scholarship program but I fucked around too much in high school and honestly, I didn’t really want to go. You must’ve had your shit together.”

Bruce frowned. That wasn’t it, exactly. 

“I really needed school,” Bruce admitted quietly. “My home life sucked. My school wasn’t that great either but I got a lot of recognition there and a perfect score on my SAT so....”

“Shit,” Clint replied, his eyes widening a little. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s easy to get overshadowed by Tony,” Bruce laughed, glancing over at the other man, caught up in scrolling through Natasha’s phone with her. “But there’s a reason we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Clint asked, cocking his head.

Bruce could see the confusion but he just shrugged noncommittally, taking a bite of his burger. 

“What changed your mind?”

“Huh?” 

“About school.”

“Oh,” he laughed, swallowing back beer. “I was broke with like three roommates in this shitty apartment and this asshole I barely even knew stole a bunch of our stuff and sold it and disappeared and I had just gotten a whole string of texts at work from one of my buddies about it and I don’t know, man – I just stood there in my fucking khakis and Best Buy blue and I snapped. I just walked out.”

“Fuck,” Bruce muttered, feeling thankful for his typically mundane roommates right then. 

“Yeah, I just took my shit and moved back home – which, let me tell you, my folks were  _ not _ impressed and I didn’t really want to be there either – but I enrolled in school a few days later. I mean – I certainly don’t make a lot of money, but I didn’t want to struggle like  _ that _ either.”

“Do you think you’ll go back to veterinary school?” 

“Eh,” Clint replied, looking off as he thought about it. “I don’t know. I still don’t really care.”

Bruce laughed, fingering the last bite. “I used to care a lot more but I’m so burnt out right now.”

“That’s why you guys came down here?” 

“Yeah... for the most part,” Bruce said and though it wasn’t completely true, it also was.

Part of him wondered what it would have been like if he and Betty had come down here instead, spent a week on Miami Beach in the warmth and the sand but... It wouldn’t be the same. Even as he thought of it, he thought of how guilty he would feel about her spending money, how she would have to have planned everything out, how they wouldn’t have wasted whole mornings in the hotel room fucking around. And it wasn’t fair – he knew that. But it just... That was how it was. It made him feel even more burnt out just thinking about it. 

“Hey.”

Tony’s voice was soft and his hand was on his wrist and Bruce looked up at him, immediately feeling better just to see those deep brown eyes looking at him with such focus and attention, like he was the center of Tony’s world. What could feel better than that?

“There’s a club at our hotel actually that I’m sure I can get us last minute tickets into with a few phone calls ,” Tony said, pausing a moment and gauging his reaction. “Would  _ you _ dance with me? This time?”

Bruce looked away, feeling stupid and embarrassed that he would ask that right there in front of Clint and Natasha. But he meant well, Bruce knew that, and so he tried to let it go. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he grumbled, knowing he would look absolutely stupid next to Tony but accepting that fate. 

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he threatened with a teasing smile and removed his hand to pull out his phone and step away from the table. 

Bruce finished his beer. 

“You wanna see if we can find a bar or something?” Clint asked Nat as Bruce leaned back in his seat, watching them. 

“We could go back to that pool bar,” Natasha joked. 

“We  _ could _ do that,” Clint grinned, rubbing at his chin. “I was thinking the karaoke place next door.”

Bruce swallowed, feeling pretty unsure about that. He’d managed to avoid going to karaoke so far in his college career but it seemed there was nothing he wasn’t going to be dragged into doing in Miami. Didn’t he think this before? Bruce remembered the car ride down and Tony saying something about how he’d try anything and him feeling defensive. Even a week ago he knew Tony could talk him into anything – now it was even worse. At least before he had to  _ talk _ him into it – now all Tony had to do was give him a look and he knew he was done for.

“Oh yeah, we  _ should _ !” Natasha was agreeing and Bruce knew he was about to be going to a karaoke bar as soon as Tony came back to the table. “Have you ever done karaoke?” 

Bruce looked up and grimaced. “No – I’m not much of a singer.”

Clint laughed. “You don’t have to be able to sing.”

“Well, kinda you do,” Bruce argued. “You’re literally standing up there singing.”

“But you don’t have to be  _ good _ at it,” Clint argued back and Bruce laughed. 

“At least there’s  _ that _ .”

“Success!” Tony announced, coming up behind him and planting his hands on the back of Bruce’s chair. “We’re on the guest list for tomorrow!” 

“Awesome!” Natasha enthused, clapping, and Clint flashed a grin. “I’ll Venmo you for the tickets.”

“How do you feel about karaoke?” Clint asked and Bruce rolled his eyes – as if Tony wasn’t going to be into it. 

“Love it,” he replied, predictably. “Why? Is that what we’re doing?” 

“Yeah you know, there’s a karaoke bar next door to that pool bar,” Clint explained and Tony was definitely into it but he was also pulling his hand through the back of Bruce’s hair idly, turning him to mush, and by the time they got up to find a bike return center there was pretty much nothing Bruce wouldn’t do for Tony.

After returning the bikes, they walked up the boardwalk to where the bar was and at least there was already a decent crowd so it would take a while to get into the rotation, allowing Bruce time to acclimate to the bar as well as what he was sure he was going to be forced to do. It was a pretty intimate space, all things considered – dark with gratuitous blue lighting. The stage was opposite the bar with seating between, a cacophony of neon lights backlighting it. There was a TV screen overhead which Bruce assumed ran the lyrics and a DJ off to the side with a computer entering requests. There was a woman up there singing Elton John and actually the vibe Bruce got was pretty positive and encouraging – all things considered. 

Tony ordered them beer and nachos as they looked over the laminated list of songs on the table, arguing and laughing over their selections. Bruce bowed out of the first round, saying he wanted to see what it was like first as he’d never been before, and no one hassled him as they went up to put in their requests.

When they returned there was a guy on stage who had just started in on The Proclaimers and Tony grabbed his beer and threw his arm around Bruce’s shoulders, singing along gamely, “And If I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you.”

“I’m sure,” Bruce grinned, picking up his own glass and clinking it with Tony’s, downing half a glass quickly. 

“And I would walk five hundred miles,” Clint sang to her. 

“And I would walk five hundred more,” Natasha added back with a grin as they all finished the chorus together. 

“Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door.” 

Tony ran his fingers through the back of Bruce’s hair affectionately as he finished the verse with them, beaming over at him, and Bruce just smiled back, feeling good, even if the implication was something he knew was impossible. Just to hear Tony say it... He swallowed down the heavy feeling suffocating him with more beer. 

There were a few more songs but it wasn’t long before Clint was being called up and they all clapped and cheered generously for him. Though if Bruce was honest, he thought Clint seemed a lot more nervous then he let on when they were eating burgers on the beach.

It became more clear by his stage presence and how stiffly he stood up there that yeah, he was extremely nervous, but when the beginning beat hit and Bruce recognized it, he realized it didn’t matter. 

“Sometimes you’ve gotta bleed to know – that you’re alive and have a soul,” he sung out more confidently than Bruce had expected, his eyes gazing over to Natasha, who covered her flattered smile with long fingers as he sung on.

“Is this your song?” Tony asked as he playfully jabbed Natasha in the shoulder. 

She shook her head, glancing back for only a moment. “Oh no, but when we first got together this song was on the radio  _ all _ the time.” 

She paused a minute as he finished the chorus then shouted out at the stage with him – 

“The songs on the radio are okay!”

He must have heard her because Clint tripped over the next line laughing.

Bruce looked over at Tony and Tony smiled over at him from his glass, setting it down and pulling him into a wet kiss that Bruce eagerly reciprocated. 

“You fell asleep in my,” Tony sung against him, “car – I drove the whole time.”

“Lies!” Bruce laughed and Tony kissed him again. He pushed him away playfully, reaching for the pitcher to refill his glass.

Bruce was pretty impressed Clint had finished the song more confidently than he had begun and he did a perfunctory little bow with the last line, jumping down to give Natasha a quick but heartfelt kiss as she went up, taking the mic with more confidence then he had originally. But little did they know, Natasha had a powerhouse voice.

“You took my heart, and you held it in your mouth,” she sung effortlessly with the music as it started, “and – with the word, all my love came rushing out.”

“Wow,” Bruce mouthed to Tony and he nodded, turning his eyes back to her. 

“Every whisper, it's the worst – emptied out by a single word,” she sang, emotion dripping in every word. “There’s a hollow in me now.”

“She’s good, yeah?” Clint asked, smiling this smile that spoke to just how enamoured he was of her and Bruce nodded. 

“Hell yeah,” Tony agreed through a mouthful of nachos. 

“I’m going to propose tomorrow,” Clint admitted as he watched, looking back at them a moment. “Right after midnight. So if we disappear for a minute – that’s why.”

Bruce blinked, suddenly confused by that admission. He was going to  _ what _ ?

“Propose?” Bruce asked dumbly as Tony congratulated him with another  _ hell yeah _ and a high five and they ignored his stupid question completely. 

“So I put my faith in something unknown,” Natasha sang in the background and for a minute all Bruce could think about was Betty. 

Propose. What? How could he? Bruce wanted to tell him,  _ warn _ him, not to – once you make that decision, there was no going back. She would know. She would sense it and she would stop it before it even had the chance to happen and she – 

But that wasn’t Natasha. 

“But I'm tired of hope with nothing to hold.”

He stared at her on stage, giving it her all, and she wasn’t Betty – obviously. And Betty didn’t even know – he never even got the ring. But it caused such a visceral reaction in him that he could do nothing but stare and Tony was holding his hand, rubbing his thumb against the back of it. 

“You okay, big guy?”    


Bruce tried to snap himself out of it, smiling wanely and nodding as Natasha sung about empty words. He picked up his beer, hoping it would force himself out of this. He didn’t want to feel this way. 

Tony was wolf whistling and clapping for Natasha as she finished and Bruce clapped along too. Then Tony picked up his beer and finished it, giving Bruce a quick kiss as he was called up. 

“My turn,” Tony said as he drew away, sauntering up to the stage and Natasha fell into Clint’s lap, grinning. 

“You were awesome,” Bruce said, pushing her lightly on the shoulder – on autopilot, but trying – and she thanked him with a wide grin.

The beat of Tony’s song started and he stared down into the microphone, looking completely comfortable on stage, like he belonged there, and Bruce couldn’t place the song at first – but then Tony started singing. 

“Oh my, my, my, what you do to me,” he sang, looking up slowly as he did so, his deep, warm voice very different from Ellie Golding’s and maybe not as smooth as would be required of a truly good singer, but after years of piano Tony knew how to hit a note. “Like lightning when I'm swimming in the sea.”

Bruce already felt transfixed, watching the way his lips moved, the barest motion of his hips – and Bruce could feel him all the way across the room, a veritable ball of barely harnessed energy.

“Walking on wires and power lines – you put your body on top of mine.”

It was painfully slow, his voice dragging like honey through each line, like he was singing it just for  _ him _ , just to tease  _ him _ . And Bruce didn’t realize it then, wasn’t really conscious of it, but Betty was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind.

“Oh Lord have mercy I'm begging you,  _ please _ – I'm feeling drained, I need  _ love _ .”

Bruce swallowed as Tony pressed his hand to his chest like it hurt. 

“You charge me up like  _ electricity _ – jumpstart my heart with your  _ love _ .”

And then Tony completely let go and he belted out the next lines – 

“There's an energy – when you  _ hold _ me –”

– his entire body possessed by the music – 

“When you  _ touch _ me – it’s so powerful –”

– hips swaying then jerking to the beat – 

“I can  _ feel _ it – when you hold me –” 

– his hand clenched into a fist with emotion – 

“When you  _ touch _ me – it's so powerful –” 

– and as he finished the chorus his shoulders, his whole sense of self visibly collapsed, and you could hear the intake of breath through the microphone and Bruce was hard as hell. 

“I couldn't leave if I wanted to, 'cause something keeps pulling me back to you,” Tony continued, neon lights shining in his big eyes visible even at a distance, and Bruce felt like he couldn’t breathe.

It was like no one else in the universe existed at that moment besides them, Tony singing this incredibly sexual song to him, like it was all he could do get through it, each word a heavy burden of truth he fought through. And when he got back to the chorus he danced and – Christ. Bruce didn’t think he was going to be able to take it. 

Tony was so aware of how he moved, the way he rocked his hips, stalked across the stage like a caged tiger – it had its own kind of power, coiled and waiting and it captivated him. Natasha was objectively a better singer, but Tony’s stage presence was impeccable. If he could have pulled his eyes away for even a moment he knew he would have found the rest of the bar similarly enraptured but he was absolutely helpless to do anything other than watch this unbelievably sexy man  _ he had fucked _ serenade him from across the room.

“Hold me in your arms – burns like fire, electricity,” he sighed over the last word, standing perfectly still, dragging some kind of feeling out of Bruce that made him want to storm the stage and slam into him with the full force of his feelings. 

“When you’re close I feel the sparks,” Tony continued, perfectly apt, voice wavering with exhaustion and emotion as he looked back down again, “takes me higher – to  _ infinity _ .”

The bar erupted in applause but Bruce just sat there, feeling completely stunned. Worse than if Tony had been on top of him for three and a half minutes. Violated in a completely different way than he even realized was possible and he got up from the table suddenly, almost knocking over his drink, and walking out of the bar before Tony could make it back from the stage. He couldn’t just sit there, next to him, pretending he didn’t want to jump on him and pound him into the floor. 

Bruce leaned heavily against the brick wall, breathing in the warm, stale Florida air, and he felt like he needed a hit of something to calm down. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. It was just a crush. It was just – 

“Are you okay?” 

Tony’s concerned voice came from behind him and Bruce turned, barely giving himself a moment to register the look in his eyes, the worry, before wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling himself into his body, kissing him heavily, like with his mouth he could show him an ounce of the dark storm of emotions brewing within him. 

He could feel Tony smiling beneath his kiss in this hidden cove Bruce had created within his arms, feel the way Tony’s arms encompassed his waist, holding him close, and if he could have just stayed like that for all eternity it would have been okay. He didn’t want Tony to say anything, to ask anything, to make him feel weird and uncomfortable about this, like he knew he would. He just wanted this – his body pressed up against him, warm and electric. That was all he wanted. 

“Feel better?” Tony teased as his passion mellowed out and his kisses eased up and Bruce grazed his teeth along Tony’s bottom lip. 

“No,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the same lip, not letting Tony escape the safety of his arms. 

Tony chuckled and kissed him back, softly, slowly, didn’t say anything else, as if he could sense it, that he needed this and just this – and after another minute Bruce finally knew he had to let him go. 

Still, Tony didn’t say anything, just took his hand and led him back into the bar and back to their table where Clint and Natasha were discussing the list again and the table was being delivered more beer and he practically collapsed back into the seat, feeling heavy and unsettled as he drowned his emotional turmoil in his beer. He watched through guarded eyes as Tony reviewed the list with them again. He couldn’t take having to watch Tony on stage again, singing like  _ that  _ again.

“This time Bruce is going to go up with me,” Tony was saying to Clint and Natasha and somehow that was even more alarming. 

“What?” he sputtered, surely looking as shocked as he felt. 

“He doesn’t sing,” Clint offered, laughing, and Tony looked over at him, a quizzical expression on his face. 

“Did you tell him that?” he asked, amused. “You sing with me all the time!” 

“In your  _ car _ ,” Bruce shot back defensively, “where it’s just  _ us _ .”

Tony made a face then that Bruce struggled to read, something soft and subtle and it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

“I’ll pick something easy,” Tony said, his knee pressing up against Bruce’s under the table. 

“Oh good,” Bruce growled sarcastically – but it had no heat and he took another drink. 

By the time it came up for their turn Bruce had about an hour to ease up and he felt a little better after laughing with his friends, a little more than tipsy, and he followed Tony up to the stage with a bit of dumb confidence, trusting in his smile.

“I’ll start,” Tony murmured as he adjusted the mic stand and already Bruce felt better knowing he didn’t have to hold his mic either. 

For a minute the crowd was intimidating – Bruce had never been on stage in this way. Every time he gave a presentation it was on something he knew well, something he believed in. Even when he was a kid being handed awards for projects well beyond the scope of his years – he knew he deserved them. But this? This was something he only did in private, something he really only did with Tony. It was like those Instagram posts of him smiling – it was too close. 

But the alcohol helped and Tony’s smile helped and when he heard the opening strains of the bass, the bells, and recognized the song he turned away from the mic, laughing.

“Listen baby,” Tony started with a wide grin. “Ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low, ain't no river wiiiiiiide enough baby.” 

He looked over at Bruce as he sang and Bruce grinned back, tapping his heel to the beat. It was easy to forget the crowd when Tony was so captivating to watch. 

“If you need me call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far,” Bruce sung, laughing, feeling completely ridiculous but Tony was there and it was okay.

“Don't worry, baby,” Tony interjected and though it was his line, it was like a personal message, the way Tony called him ‘baby’ anyway, and it made Bruce feel so light and good.

“Just call my name I'll be there in a hurry, you don't have to worry,” Bruce finished as Tony joined him for the chorus. 

“‘Cause baby there ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough,” they sang together, “to keep me from getting to you babe.”

Somehow it felt good to sing that cheesy song with him – like they were in the car together, like it was just them. And any remaining angst he felt fell away until all he could feel for Tony again was light and easy and he was laughing with him as they got off stage. 

“Really?” Clint was laughing too, amused by his choice of song. 

“I like oldies,” Tony defended as someone else was called on stage and he emptied the rest of the pitcher in his glass. “Do you want more or...?” 

“I just want you close, where you can stay forever,” the woman on stage crooned and the romantic piano line over the heavy beat did something to Bruce’s heart that he was sure was mostly influenced by all that alcohol suddenly catching up to him but –  

He had been smiling at Tony but it dropped as he stared at Tony looking back at him, the others, waiting for a response on the beer. And it was like everything was in slow motion – the way Tony’s eyes swept over to their friends, the way his mouth cocked a half grin when his eyes moved back to him. The way his eyes crinkled just a little at the corners, shining and happy. The way his hand brandished the half glass of beer, the golden liquid catching the light and shifting slowly in the glass. And it was like – 

Like he just wanted Tony close, then. Like  _ forever _ . 

“You and me together, through the days and nights...”

“No,” he said, the word suddenly falling out of his mouth easily as he leaned forward and moved into Tony’s space effortlessly – like it was just them, like it was only them – burying his head up against his neck, his mouth only inches from his ear. “Let’s leave.”

“ People keep talking they can say what they like...”

Tony was beaming as he set down his beer, ran his hand back through Bruce’s hair, tilting his head back to kiss him. 

“Whatever you want, baby.”

Bruce stayed there, watching from the safety of his shoulder as he searched the room for their waitress to flag her down for the check, picking up his glass and downing the rest of it once he had, laughing at how awkward it was to drink with Bruce tucked up against him. 

“No one, no one, no one – can get in the way of what I'm feeling...”

And he had to sit up so Tony could take out his wallet, put his card down on the tab with Clint, but it was like – that was it, just Tony, and there was nothing else there standing in the way anymore. His whole world had shrunken down to just them and fuck all everything else disappeared behind them – the bar, Clint, Natasha, the whole thing, all of Miami – and it was just them. And Bruce slid his hand into Tony’s, needing to be connected to him before he was swept away with it.

“But all I know is everything's gonna be all right...”

They stood to leave and Bruce leaned heavily on Tony, stumbling a little, feeling entirely too drunk as they made their way back to the boardwalk. 

“You okay?” Tony asked, that concern there again, and Bruce smiled, nodding a little.

“Yeah. I’m – I’m definitely okay.”

They said goodbye to Clint and Natasha at the hotel, making their way upstairs. The room was startlingly quiet compared to the noisy bar but it didn’t matter to Bruce. All that mattered was right there in front of him. 

“Tony,” he sighed as Tony turned away, pulling off his shirt. 

He looked back, amused, as Bruce just stood there like a lost puppy looking for direction. 

“Get undressed,” Tony said, dropping his shirt to the floor, but Bruce couldn’t move.

All he wanted – 

“Do you need some help?” Tony was laughing and Bruce chuckled reflexively but he didn’t get the joke.

Tony stopped back to him, pulling at his shirt to take it off, but he just sunk into his arms, catching Tony off guard as he tried to hold him up. His skin just felt so good and warm and it wasn’t even sexual, it was just –  

“Hey,” Tony was saying, trying to get him into a standing position again. “Let’s at least get these jeans off, okay?” 

He managed to help Bruce out of his shoes and pants before he sunk into the bed, Tony kicking out of the rest of his clothes too before he joined him there, sliding up it to be next to him, and it was all Bruce could do to press his face against his neck, wanting to be so close to him, so close. 

“Hold me?” he whispered into his smooth, warm skin and Tony complied easily. 

Tony wrapped his arms around him and kissed his forehead, slipping a leg between his, the pressure on his crotch delicious in such a way it didn’t even have to be dealt with, it was just there, and Bruce was helpless. Helpless. The thing growing within him had completely taken over now and he knew it but it was just – 

Nothing could stop what he was feeling. Not even him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Note on the Music in this Chapter:
> 
> I actually have an inspiration playlist for this fic, surprise surprise. I tried to use popular songs that people would know, but just in case, here they are.
> 
> 1\. I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers  
> 2\. Tear in my Heart by Twenty One Pilots  
> 3\. Sweet Nothing by Calvin Harris ft. Florence Welch  
> 4\. Powerful by Major Lazer ft. Ellie Goulding and Tarrus Riley  
> 5\. Ain't No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell  
> 6\. No One by Alicia Keys
> 
> Also writing about music is hard and painful and I hope it read a lot better than it felt when I wrote it. TT_TT


	12. Monday, December 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for these last few chapters being so long, but I'm truly not sorry. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Also, if you haven't heard the song LOVE by Kendrick Lamar well. I am still in love with that song so. It is such a New Years song to me.

When Bruce woke up Tony was already up, sitting in bed and sipping coffee while scrolling through his phone. He didn’t feel great but he did feel better than he was expecting. In one pathetic motion he slid forward, snuggling up against Tony’s side. He felt Tony’s hand slide through his hair, stroke his neck. 

“Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll order some food in a little while.”

Bruce groaned. “Gotta get some aspirin first.” 

He forced himself out of bed to go to the bathroom and was surprised when he came back that Tony was already waiting for him with water and aspirin. 

“Lay back down,” Tony murmured and Bruce really didn’t have to be told twice. 

He curled back up in bed and Tony lay down with him, holding him close, stroking his hair, and Bruce fell back asleep easily. 

When he woke up the second time it was to Tony’s soft voice in his ear, his lips on his cheek. 

“Do you want a croissant?” 

Bruce rubbed at his face, recognizing that he felt a lot better – hungry more than woozy – and he opened his eyes to Tony smiling down at him. 

“Sorry,” he managed out and Tony shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it – I went back to sleep too.”

After a moment he managed to drag himself up into a sitting position and Tony handed him a cup of coffee, which he took a grateful sip of, and he slid a tray of breakfast pastries and fruit closer between them. Bruce was also grateful for the carbs. 

“We’ve got to go get some clothes for tonight,” Tony told him and Bruce grimaced as he pulled apart a croissant, a reaction he was sure Tony was anticipating. “I know, I know – but I’m looking forward to it.” 

Bruce glared over at him as he placed a cautious piece of bread in his mouth.

“It’ll be fun to dress you!” Tony admitted, pushing him very lightly in the shoulder. 

“Apparently everyone thinks that,” Bruce muttered, flashbacks of several of these types of trips with Betty running through his mind all at once. 

That kind of shut Tony down as he picked at the fruit and then Bruce felt guilty. It was hard not to feel defensive though – every nice thing he owned had been a church hand-me-down prior to Betty. And hand-me-downs had been enough for every award he’d ever received, a borrowed suit enough for MIT – but it wasn’t enough for his friends and it was embarrassing because it was nothing he had ever really thought about before.

“There’s a dress code, you know,” Tony explained as he stared down at his own pastry, pulling it apart. “You know I don’t give a shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized, feeling bad, knowing that Tony meant well, that he’d really try to make it fun for him. “I didn’t mean to be shitty. That’s just... how I am.”

He managed to get a quirk out of Tony’s lip for that and he felt a little better. Still, they ate in silence then, and Bruce physically felt better too and at least a little more optimistic after eating, so he pushed away the tray to move in closer to Tony as he sipped his coffee. Despite being a negative, shitty person most of the time, his feelings for Tony were still warm and overwhelming, and he snaked his arms around him, nosing at his ear, feeling Tony relax against him. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “For... this. For everything.”

It made him feel vulnerable to admit it, Betty’s words ringing in his head –  _ I’m always going to have more money than you and if you can’t accept that... _ But it wasn’t really the money, not with Tony, anyway. Not even with Betty, really. It was... It was just  _ so damn difficult _ to be so fucking ignorant. A dress code? That would never have occurred to him. Betty couldn’t deal with it and why should Tony have to?

But Tony just huffed and set down his coffee.

“Shut up,” he replied, tilting his chin up to kiss him. 

Instantly Bruce felt better, kissing him back easily. It was easier this way – to show him how he felt, how much he appreciated him. Bruce shifted and slipped into his lap, straddling his hips, worshipping his face with his lips, kissing all over it. Tony was grinning up at him and Bruce loved it, loved feeling like he could make Tony happy, like he could make him feel special. The way – the way Tony made  _ him _ feel. 

He was still in his boxers and a shirt for some stupid reason and Tony whispered against his lips for him to take off his shirt, pushing him back so he could watch. Bruce flushed and leaned back, feeling supremely stupid as he grabbed the hem of his shirt. But Tony sucked in his breath in anticipation, making Bruce even harder than he already was. It was ridiculous – Tony had obviously seen him naked, and he wasn’t much to look at to begin with – but he pulled it off slowly anyway, just because Tony liked it. 

Tony pushed himself up and kissed his stomach, his chest, scraping his teeth against a nipple and then sucking on it, making Bruce hiss. He ran his hands through Tony’s hair, holding his neck as he ran his mouth across his chest, up his neck, as far he could go with Bruce on his hips and then Bruce pushed him back into the bed to ravish his mouth. 

Their hips ground against one another as they kissed and Tony’s hands were on his hips, too, pressing them down harder. 

“Get these off,” he growled, pulling at the waistband of his boxers, and Bruce stopped, breathing hard, looking down at Tony looking back up at him anxiously, not understanding why he stopped. 

“I want to try it,” Bruce said, heart pounding in his chest, and Tony blinked up at him, understanding dawning across his face. 

“Really?” Tony asked carefully. “Are you sure?” 

Bruce nodded. “Yeah.”

“Fuck,” Tony breathed, dragging him into another kiss. “I’m sure as hell not gonna try to talk you out of it.”

Nervous but encouraged by Tony’s reaction he slid his hand down his body, running his palm across his dick roughly. 

“You want it?” he asked, voice coming out more confident than he felt and Tony physically shivered. 

“ _ Fuck _ yeah,” Tony moaned, his fingers digging into Bruce’s shoulders, making something twist in the pit of Bruce’s stomach in a way that was both painful and exquisite. 

But then he stopped, sitting up on Tony’s hips, laughing a little, completely embarrassed. “You’re going to have to help me out here.”

Tony grinned up at him, shoving him aside. “Take off your boxers,” he said. “I’ll get what we need.”

Bruce did as he was told and waited for Tony to come back with his lube and a condom, flopping down on the bed next to him and giving him another kiss. 

“I’ll prep myself,” Tony said with a smile, his eyes playful, making Bruce’s heart beat faster. “You can help, if you want.” 

Truthfully it kind of terrified him and he was glad Tony was taking the lead here. He did  _ want _ it, wanted to try it anyway, but he also knew Tony wanted it, and he wanted to give him anything he could.

Somehow it was sexier than he expected to watch Tony pour lube in his hand and reach down between his legs. It was a good thing that Tony wasn’t very self-conscious about things like that because Bruce couldn’t even try to hide his stare. Bruce couldn’t help reaching out to him, his fingers stroking the side of his face as he watched, watched as Tony bit his lower lip, as his breathing sped up.

Finally Bruce gave up restraining himself, got over his fear, and he picked up the bottle of lube and slicked his own fingers in it. Tony’s eyes widened in surprise and Bruce could tell Tony didn’t want to say anything and scare him off but that he wanted Bruce to do it... which only made Bruce want to do it more. 

Tony moved his hand and let Bruce move in between his legs, his mouth open, panting in anticipation, and when Bruce touched him there his thighs literally quaked. Tony’s hand was on his own, encouraging him gently, and he bit down on his own tongue, wanting Tony so bad right then it physically hurt – but Bruce just slid his fingers further in and kissed his chest and tried to calm down enough not to come before he even got in.

He didn’t know why he had been so scared, it wasn’t very different from fingering Betty. Tighter, hotter, but not all that different and the way Tony moaned – fuck. It made his dick drip. Tony’s hips were pressing forward into his hand eagerly and he grabbed at his hair, balling his fist in it. 

“More,” he whined. “I – I need –”

Bruce pulled his hand out to apply more lube, adding another finger and Tony’s fist tightened in his hair as he breathed out ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’ with each thrust of his fingers. It was real tight, hard to move at all, and imaging his dick there was making Bruce struggle to even breathe and he didn’t know how much more patience he was going to have for this but he’d never done it before and he didn’t want to hurt Tony either. 

“Fuck me, baby,” Tony begged, this pleading little note more than Bruce could take and he had to physically stop completely and reset, looking into Tony’s eyes.

“You sure?” he asked carefully and a smile floated over Tony’s lips for just a moment as he reached for the condom he’d left on the end table. 

“Yeah – I’m ready,” he said, ripping open the packaging with frustrated fingers. “Just – it’s going to be tight, so go slow, you know? At first.” 

Bruce nodded like a good student and kissed him as he took the condom and slid it on his dick. He grabbed a pillow and put it under Tony’s hips, slicking himself in more lube, truly unsure how this was going to work. 

He positioned himself and nudged in slowly, the tightness excruciating and he watched Tony’s face for any sign of discomfort. Tony grit his teeth but he was breathing really even, slow breaths, trying to remain relaxed though his dick was straining and Bruce knew he wanted it bad. And it wasn’t so bad once he got in. He paused, gave Tony a minute, and pushed forward slowly, letting Tony adjust, everything in him wanting to just slam into him with every inch but forcing himself to go slowly. 

Finally, finally Bruce was in and panting over him and Tony was spread before him, staring up at him with those eyes that made him weak and it was all Bruce could do not to collapse into him, crush him, string himself up alongside him and just  _ be _ with him completely. It was more than he could take. Bruce could feel his eyes burning but he blinked it away – he knew what Tony really wanted and it wasn’t that. Not right now. 

Slowly he withdrew his hips a little, just a little, not much at all, and snapped them back into place quickly. Tony shuddered, his mouth falling open with a small gasp, surprised by the quickness with which he returned. And he pulled out again, not much, just enough to work to get him loose, and snapped his hips back again. 

“Fuck,” Tony sputtered out, his hands looking for some kind of purchase as they twisted in the sheets. 

Bruce slid a hand around Tony’s dick, holding it steady as he pulled out a little further this time, still slowly, only to slam back home, and Tony whimpered. It was driving him fucking crazy but he wanted Tony to make that sound over and over again and so he went slow every time, feeling Tony’s dick swell in his hand with each successive hit, until Tony was just babbling and Bruce was sweating and he wanted more, so much more.

“Bruce, Bruce, baby, wait,” Tony managed, grabbing at his thigh, getting him to stop. “I want – I – I...” Tony swallowed. “Roll over?” 

“Huh?” Bruce asked, surprised and Tony motioned to him like ‘come here.’

“I want to ride that dick,” he said with a silly grin, flushed and laughing and Bruce barked out a laugh too. “Come on, come here.”

Bruce laid down against him at last, kissing him as Tony kissed him back, wrapped his arms around him, and they made an awkward transition, laughing as they rolled clumsily over. Tony was nuzzling his face, laughing, kissing at him and his hands were on Tony’s face, feeling the ringing in his chest and it felt so good and it felt so right. And as Tony sat up, resting down on his hips, the words caught in his throat were threatening to spill over but he had to swallow them back, swallow it all down. 

Tony slathered his hand in lube and took his own dick in his hand, rubbing it, and Bruce could feel Tony’s muscles constrict and Bruce breathed in quick, trying to restrain himself from coming, fingers digging into Tony’s thighs. But then it was even worse as he began to move. 

Bruce had thought yesterday, watching him on stage, it was worse than Tony being on top of him – but truly, he had no idea. The way he moved –  _ fuck _ . Bruce could hardly hold on. It was so deliberate, every roll of his hips, every stroke of his hand, every inhale – and Bruce could hardly breathe. He was helpless, captivated, watching as Tony slid up and down his dick, his head thrown back, throat exposed, shoulders relaxed, his hand on his dick, and God, he was  _ gorgeous _ . He was gorgeous and Bruce wanted to sear that image into his memory. 

But it wasn’t really what he wanted. He wanted to completely undo him, the way Tony undid him. Wanted him to be totally unraveled, crying, begging to be fucked. He wanted Tony to come so hard his toes curled and he saw stars. He wanted –  _ fuck _ – he wanted to give him  _ everything _ .

And so he grabbed Tony’s hips, stilling them – and Tony paused, surprised. But it was only for a second as Bruce pushed back up. Tony gasped as he realized, falling forward to catch himself as Bruce fucked him from beneath him. It was awkward and he only got another thrust or two in before he slipped out by accident but instead of letting it deter him, Bruce pushed Tony back onto his back and deftly slipped back in. 

“Holy fucking –  _ Christ _ ,” Tony gasped out as Bruce fucked him into the bed. 

Every thrust was hard and fast and Tony was incoherent as his moans grew deeper and Bruce could tell he was going to come. His hands were fisted so tight in Bruce’s hair it would have hurt if he’d given a damn, his back curled up, one of Bruce’s hands holding him up, helping support him, his face buried in Bruce’s shoulder.

“Right there, right there, right there,  _ right there _ ,” Tony pleaded, his voice loud and hot in his ear, but Bruce couldn’t have done anything else if he'd tried. 

When Tony came it was every bit as explosive as Bruce wanted it to be. His whole body clamped down around Bruce’s dick, shuddering, cum shooting between their bodies, hot on slick skin. And Bruce was helpless to follow him, his hips jerking reflexively into Tony though they could hardly move and he came spiraling after. Tony was heaving in heavy breathes and whimpering again and Bruce could hardly hold himself up any more but he held him anyway, gentle hand on his back, stroking his skin lovingly, as he drug in his own ragged breaths. 

Slowly, slowly his hands relaxed in Bruce’s hair and his arms loosened around Bruce’s shoulders and he fell back into the bed, letting all of his muscles decompress and Bruce slid out, kissing him on the corner of the mouth as he stood and slid off the condom, making his way a little shakily to the bathroom to throw it away. 

Bruce washed his hands and ran a washcloth under hot water and wiped Tony’s cum off his chest, something about that filling him with an immense sense of joy and pride, before getting a clean one and wringing it out and heading back to the bed. 

He sat down beside Tony on the edge of the bed, tenderly wiping at his chest and abs as Tony preened beneath the contact. Bruce felt like his entire chest might burst watching him smile so easily and lean into his touch. This might have started out as some kind of physical thing, but for him it was so much more than that now – so much more. And watching the way Tony caved to him he didn’t really think it was that much different for Tony, either. 

“You’re so good,” Tony mumbled out and Bruce leaned in to kiss him again. 

“I’ll be right back,” he assured him, standing to return the towel to the bathroom before rejoining him on the bed. 

He curled up next to Tony and lay his head on Tony’s chest, listening to the way his heart was still pounding, feeling the way Tony’s fingers moved slowly across his scalp. He could feel it again, his eyes burning, but he squeezed them shut and tried to bury it. It felt too good. It felt too good.

“I have to get up,” Tony said after a moment, his fingers stilling in his hair. “But I’m going to take a shower, too.” 

Bruce hummed his understanding as Tony stood, watching him walk out. He rubbed his palms into his eyes. What the hell was he doing? He heard Tony on the phone with Rhodey the other day –  _ I don’t want to go back _ . Would he though? Now? Would he understand why Bruce had to go back? Would he go back with him?

He wanted him to –  _ fuck _ . How could he not? Surely he’d changed his mind? If the reason he didn’t want to go back was Pepper... well. Didn’t he have something better now? Or, if not better, at least  _ something _ ? 

The water for the shower turned on and he forced it out of his mind. There was no point in thinking about it now. IAP didn’t start for another week – he just wanted to enjoy this now. 

Bruce made his way back to the bathroom, sliding into the shower behind Tony, kissing his shoulders and grabbing the shampoo. He lathered his hair, running his nails across his scalp, feeling him practically purr under his touch. He ran the bar of soap across his body, hands stroking everything until Tony was practically leaning back into him, completely melting beneath his touch. Bruce had never had anyone be that into him and he knew it was just a dream he was going to wake up from, but... Tony’s affection was so sharp, so honest – there was nowhere to hide. And he didn’t really want to anyway.

He hit the shower handle when they were done but Tony stopped him, wrapping him into a full body hug and just holding him, saying nothing at all. And Bruce was more than content to hold him back, wet and warm and wanting, for as long as he would let him.

But eventually his arms fell away and they dried off and got dressed and Tony got together a laundry order as Bruce set up the dishes to be taken away. 

“You wanna go get this over with?” Bruce asked across the room, trying to be light about it and not hurt his feelings again, and he must have succeeded because Tony chuckled.

“Your excitement is palpable, dear.” 

“Oh,” Bruce paused, playing along. “Was it that obvious?” 

“So obvious.”

“Shit.”

Tony glanced back over his shoulder at him, grinning, as Bruce slipped on those silly mesh shoes. But Tony was ready a minute later and they walked down to the service desk with the laundry and out to the boardwalk. Though before they even made it down to the bar they’d been at last night Tony took them in a different direction, walking away from the beach and into a fancy looking strip mall area. 

It didn’t take Tony long to find the store he was looking for and Bruce walked in with no small amount of reservation. He’d already told himself not to look at any tags, but he didn’t know how well he was going to be able to stick to that. Inside though he felt better. He didn’t know what he was expecting, exactly – but it wasn’t too far off from Penney’s or anywhere else he’d been. Cleaner, obviously, whiter, the displays were more sparse and the staff more friendly. But at least there were signs on the displays labeled with things like “30% off.” Even if he was embarrassed by how much comfort he took in that.

A woman in a solid navy dress came up and was asking them what they were looking for and if they needed a fitting room. 

“We’re going out tonight, you know, New Years Eve,” Tony was explaining. “I can help myself but we might need some help for him. Maybe we’ll start with pants?” 

Bruce frowned as Tony smiled at him, but it was soft, meant to make him feel more comfortable. 

“Well do you have a preference?” the unassuming lady smiled at him too, though it instantly made him feel guarded and he fought it down. “Slim fit, classic, straight, athletic...?” 

“I hate slim fit,” Bruce mumbled, thinking of all the times Betty brought him back something slim fit and he forced himself to shove into it before he spoke up about it. 

“We’ll try classic then?” 

With Tony’s help they gathered up a few different options and sizes and ushered him into a fitting room. He stared at it all a bit bemused. He was sure some colors were meant to go with others but he had no idea which. As frustrating as it was to have an increasing assortment of specific clothing he didn’t like purchased by Betty, at least he didn’t have to make any kind of decision on it. 

“Try on what you like best first,” Tony called through the door and Bruce barked a laugh. 

“And if I like none of it?” 

There was silence on the other side and then Tony’s voice. 

“If you don’t like it we can go somewhere else,” he said softly and Bruce rolled his eyes, knowing that Tony was only trying to be kind.

“It was a joke,” Bruce called back to make him feel better about it as he picked up a pair of pants, letting them fall open from the perfect fold they were in. 

When he finally came up with an agreeable combination from what he’d been given that he felt looked reasonably good it was a pair of dark gray pants and a white button up and he opened the door to get Tony’s opinion. For his part Tony was analytical, sizing up the way the pants fit and suggesting he try a different color shirt, pale blue instead. It was nothing he would have picked for himself – gray and blue – but he changed anyway, tucking it in, and then Tony was grinning at him in a way that made him blush. 

“Here.”

Tony rolled up the sleeves carefully until they were at his elbows, unbuttoning the top button, exposing more of his collarbone, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair, pulling it to the side. 

“We’ll have to get you a belt –” Tony said, slipping his fingers through the belt loops and pulling him forward “– but you look perfect.”

He moved in quickly, scraping his teeth against his neck where it was tucked under the collar, making a shiver run up Bruce’s spine. 

“Get dressed and I’ll get what I want,” Tony grinned as he slipped away, leaving Bruce frustrated and half-hard in the dressing room.

When he was ready he brought out the clothes and Tony had a whole pile of things on his arm and Bruce was truly amazed he could gather all of that so quickly but then Tony was a man of many talents. They checked out and Bruce tried not to think about the bill, especially as he had less than half the items they left the store with, but he couldn’t help thinking about his mom, how easy it was for Tony to drop nearly half the money he’d sent her to keep her out of foreclosure in a single moment on clothes and never think about it again.

“Thank you for doing this,” Tony said as they left, slipping his hand in his as they walked back to the hotel. “I know it’s not... you know. Whatever.”

Bruce just kinda shrugged, leaning into him a little. “Done a lot of stuff this week I wouldn’t have done if it wasn’t for you,” he admitted. “All of it’s been good.” 

They shared a little glance, Bruce feeling shy with that admission and Tony absolutely beaming at him. 

Tony bought them ice cream from a fancy creamery on the boardwalk and when they got back to the hotel they snuggled in bed and watched TV and Bruce was none too eager to have it end. Bruce would have much rather laid there against Tony for the rest of the day than go to a club. He was still nervous about dancing with Tony – with any man – so publicly. And on top of that, Clint was going to propose, and the whole idea of that still made him feel weird and bad, and he knew he was going to have to fake his way through it.

“Do you want to get Italian?” Tony asked, pulling his fingers through his hair. “Let’s get Italian.”

“Okay,” Bruce chuckled. “I didn’t need an opinion.”

“Nope. I always get what I want.”

“I know,” Bruce grinned as Tony kissed the top of his head. 

“It’s rated very highly.”

“Umhmm.” 

“The menu looks amazing.”

“Sure,” Bruce teased as Tony tried to justify himself. 

“Well, it’s Italian or an oyster bar.”

Bruce grimaced. “What a choice.” 

“So Italian then?”

“I would love Italian,” Bruce answered with a laugh as Tony leaned in to kiss him. 

“Let’s change,” Tony murmured, sliding his hand across his hip and up under his shirt, “because I want to be frustrated all night looking at you.”

Bruce bit Tony’s lip, face flushing at such a ridiculous comment. “Bullshit.”

“You’re right,” Tony said, his hand traveling up to brush over his nipple and make him jump, “it wouldn’t matter what you were wearing.” 

“Oh my god,” Bruce replied, pushing him back. “Shut up.”

Tony grabbed at his wrist, smiling at him with this wheedling smile. “What? I’m not allowed to tell you you’re sexy?” 

“You can say it,” Bruce said, dropping Tony's hand from his chest and sliding towards the bottom of the bed, not bothering to finish his self-deprecating comment.

“Fuck Bruce, seriously,” Tony laughed as he climbed off the bed to get the clothes, “you’re the worst.”

“That’s more like it,” he shot back sarcastically but rewarded Tony with a smirk so he wouldn’t think he was being too hard on himself.

Tony grinned back and kissed him, handing him his shirt. “Get dressed, asshole.”

The person who truly looked good was Tony – not that Tony ever looked  _ bad _ . But he’d bought himself a pair of those slim fit khaki pants and pale pink button-up shirt which he then paired with a blue and cream striped blazer. He topped the look off with that ridiculous hat he wore on the boat and he looked like something from a magazine, something that screamed Miami. All he needed were those aviator shades and he tucked them into his blazer pocket, half hanging out of it. 

“Come here,” he said, calling Bruce into the bathroom after he slipped on a black leather belt to match those black shoes Tony had bought him. 

His hands were slicked in pomade or wax or something and he ran them through Bruce’s hair the way he had in the store, a little more pointedly, twisting his locks around his fingers here and there as he went. 

“I wish I had your hair,” he confided quietly as he worked and Bruce couldn’t even think of what to say to that – it seemed unbelievable to him that there was anything about him physically that Tony would envy.

Now if he wanted his ability to parse data or conceptualize complex mathematical equations – fine. There were certainly things he was better at than Tony. But better looking? Not by a mile. 

Tony washed his hands when he was done and then folded back up Bruce’s sleeves for him and although he had been somewhat embarrassed in the store – already feeling out of place and uncomfortable – in the bathroom, like this, it felt intimate and romantic to have Tony paying such attention to him. He wondered for a moment if this was what it would be like in Boston, when they went back – would he straighten his tie when he went on interviews, show him how to fix his hair, kiss him softly for good luck?

He pushed it down as Tony finished, pressing in for another quick kiss. 

“I won’t be able to take my eyes off you all night,” Tony whispered as his lips trailed across his jaw and Bruce closed his eyes and sighed. 

He wanted to refute it but he also knew why Tony said it, knew he was trying to make him feel better about dancing with that woman at that taco place. And truthfully, it did make him feel better – dumb as that was. But when he glanced at himself in the mirror as Tony moved away he did realize that – at least for him – he looked pretty good, with whatever Tony did with his hair to make it look beachy and that expensive shirt unbuttoned and those well-fitted pants hugging his hips. Maybe he wasn’t really worthy of being stared at  _ all night _ – not like Tony was – but sure, he figured a couple glances his way might be warranted. 

They walked down to the Italian place, Tony making them stop to take a picture together and Bruce didn’t even realize how he just smiled against Tony’s shoulder, automatic, until after he’d snapped the shot and slid his phone back in his pocket. They looked good. He was happy. It didn’t take any thought. 

The Italian place was this tiny little yellow building tucked into a rather residential street front with a second story and a large patio but it was busy and so Tony ordered them old fashioneds and they sat out front sipping them as they waited for a table to open up. 

When they got a seat it was in a private little corner of the restaurant and Tony ordered them burrata and calamari and risotto and lamb chops and Bruce didn’t mind at all. Tony was in such a mood he was practically humming with positive energy – smiling and laughing and mooning at him with those big, dark eyes – and it was infectious. Bruce didn’t care what he was doing or eating or talking about, he just wanted to be in that little circle of Tony’s attention forever.

The food was predictably delicious and the night felt good on Bruce’s skin as they left. Walking along palm tree lined streets Bruce imagined the brownstones of Boston, graffiti walls and old bookstores and oak trees, and he thought – maybe it wouldn’t be  _ so _ different, maybe it would work. It was only a few months, anyway, a few months and he’d have his degree and he could – well. It was too much to think. To start again with Tony. It was better to push it down.

They met Clint and Natasha in the lobby of their hotel – Clint in a pretty standard black pants, white shirt get up and Natasha in a gorgeous, slinky dress of sequined gold, hair pinned up in loose curls with a classic black wing and red lip combo.

“You look great,” Bruce said, a little in awe, and she punched his arm playfully. 

“So do you.”

“Are you ready?” Tony asked, holding out his arm, and she looped hers between his, smiling.

And Clint looked over at Bruce, lifting his brows and holding out his arm and Bruce laughed as he took it, mocking them as they followed. 

They made their way up to the rooftop, Tony giving the guy at the front his name, and it was like something out of a movie to Bruce. Tony grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, smiling back at him for all the world like the king he was, and Bruce’s heart beat faster as he lead him in. 

Bruce had been up to this deck before – it was at the pool where Tony had pretended to be his boyfriend – but it was set up entirely differently. There was scaffolding erected across the space, hanging chandeliers made of paper and lights. Across the far side was a stage set up with a light show and a DJ and although the music was loud, at the distance they were at you could still talk with relative ease. There were white lounging couches set up at this end too and passed hor d’oeuvres and Tony had explained that there was an open bar and it was overall a much better vibe than Bruce was expecting and he began to feel better instantly. 

“Drinks!” Tony announced, leading him and Natasha and Clint to the bar where they ordered the signature cocktail with a dumb name that was mostly blue curacao. 

Tony clinked their glasses together, sharing that same smile they had shared a thousand times before, but it was different, it was fuller now, it had a history behind it – those lips. Bruce didn’t know how to explain it, he just knew it, as he stared at the phone and smiled for a picture of them; as Tony danced playfully across the space back to the couches, bumping into him intentionally as he went; as Tony wrapped his arm around his shoulders as he talked, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It just... It was. It  _ was _ . He and Tony fit together somehow now and it made him smile despite himself. It made him full. 

“Go get us more drinks,” Natasha said, shoving Tony and eyeing Clint. 

“Yes ma’am,” Tony laughed, leaving with Clint for the bar while Natasha watched a moment before sliding over to him, resting her arm on the back of the chair and leaning her face against it, staring at him intently. 

“So?” she asked, her wide eyes gleaming with amusement.

“So?” Bruce replied, confused. 

He followed her eyes over to the bar and back and he was trying not to blush when he met her eyes again. 

“Clint was laughing at you over breakfast, saying Tony was your friend yesterday.”

“Well,” Bruce managed plaintively. “He  _ is _ .”

“Come on,” she teased, slapping his shoulder with the back of her hand before replacing it with her chin. “I told you he was into you – you have to see  _ that _ by now.”

Bruce ran his hand across his face, feeling tired. “We just haven’t talked about it and I don’t think... I don’t think he wants to come back to Boston with me.”

Her eyes narrowed a second, surprised. “Really?” 

“When we came down here he said he wasn’t going back,” Bruce explained, sighing. “He’s – I mean, you know he’s rich but... He’s Tony  _ Stark _ . He’s heir to Starktech Pharmaceuticals.”

“Oh  _ shit _ ,” Natasha said, eyes widening in surprise.

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Bruce replied. “And I’m just a poor kid from Ohio.”

“But it’s not the 1600s. You don’t need a dowry.”

“I know but – he doesn’t need a degree like I do,” Bruce explained, twisting his fingers together between his knees. “He can just stay here if he wants. He’s got money and talent and connections and I’m just... I’m not enough to get him to go back if he  _ really _ doesn’t want to.”

“You don’t know that,” she said sympathetically but it didn’t penetrate his negativity. 

Because he  _ did _ know that. He wasn’t enough for anyone. Not the people he kept ending up with who were used to expensive things and getting what they wanted. And it was okay, really, it was, but... it still hurt.

“The way he looks at you, Bruce...” She trailed off, looking back over towards the bar. 

Bruce frowned. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? You can’t tell me you’re not crazy about him too!” 

“I meant...” 

Bruce smiled softly. No one had ever said it out loud and it just sounded... good. It sounded right. Crazy about him. Bruce  _ was _ crazy about him. 

“It doesn’t matter because... I don’t know. I’m happy. And I don’t get to be happy that often.”

Bruce was thankful that they spied Tony and Clint making their way back, laughing, so Natasha stopped questioning him and just accepted her drink. They downed a few more until Bruce was laughing and loose and Tony’s eyes shining at him were brighter than the light show behind them and Clint and Natasha went out to dance. 

The music was getting louder and the hor d’oeuvres were gone now and Tony had his arm around his neck and was nosing at his ear, dropping kisses along his jaw. And Bruce’s hand was on his knee, gripping it, because it felt too good, and he turned into Tony’s lips, kissing him back. But then he turned his lips up the side of Tony’s face to his ear so he could hear him. 

“You better stop that,” he said with a laugh and Tony laughed back, grabbing his face and kissing him on the mouth again. 

“I’ll climb on top of you right here,” Tony threatened back and Bruce knew he would do it so he pushed him away. 

“Come on,” Bruce said, pulling him up. “Let’s get another drink.” 

They got a drink but instead of going back to the couch Bruce grabbed Tony’s hand and moved towards the stage and Tony’s eyes went wide and he gave Bruce this lopsided smile, nodding his head encouragingly. 

Bruce downed about half his drink in one nervous gulp as Tony used his free hand to pull their hips together by his belt.

“I got you,” Tony said in his ear, kissing it, sliding his hand around to his back and holding him close. 

And Tony made it easy. Tony made everything easy, of course, that was Tony, but... He made this easy too – guiding him, moving slowly, just swaying his hips and singing along and leaning in to kiss Bruce and every time he pulled back he would look at him like he couldn’t even believe Bruce was right there with his arm around him. And Bruce had his hand on Tony's neck, stroking his jaw with his thumb, flushed with the heat and the attention Tony was giving him and the way their hips rocked against each other. 

“S o give me a run for my money,” he threw his head back and sung quite loudly, brandishing his glass and very nearly spilling it though it wasn’t very full, very drunk and very happy, “sipping bubbly, feeling lovely! Living lovely!”

Bruce was laughing and trying to get him to be more careful with his arm but then he was looking at him and singing  _ to him _ and it was just...

“Just  _ looooooove _ me,” he crooned with his big dreamy eyes locked onto Bruce’s, “I wanna be with you, babe, I wanna be with –” 

Bruce pressed his lips to his mouth to shut him up because it was too much. It was the song, yeah, but it was too much. That word, that ask – no one wanted his love before. Bruce’s heart was slamming into his chest and he knew Tony didn’t mean it – it was just a song, just a song,  _ just a song _ – Bruce wasn’t sure  _ he _ didn’t. 

“I wanna be with you, I wanna be with...”

Though Tony ended the kiss he squeezed him tight, tried to pull him in closer than physically possible, pressing their sweaty foreheads together and laughing and breathing hard from exertion and his eyes were so soft and sincere and the song was repeating in the background – 

“I wanna be with...”

And those words that had been growing in the pit of his stomach were suffocating him, threatening to burst out, tumble from his lips like so many kisses and it wasn’t right, the timing was all wrong – it was easy to say it now when Tony was looking at him like that, when the music was pounding and he was hot and hard against him and nothing mattered beyond tonight. But tomorrow would be different, wouldn’t it? 

_ I want to be with you, too. _

He kissed him instead of saying it. He kissed him soft and tender and it ached in his bones how much he wanted to be there, with him, near him, and he kissed him like he could say it. And Tony laughed and Bruce felt it all through his chest and he pressed his face into his sweaty neck and felt safe. More than safe. Loved.

They announced a fifteen minute warning and the crowd cheered and Tony took him back to the bar for champagne which they were pouring liberally and handing out as fast as people walked up. Tony took a sip as he carved them out a private space on the edge of the crowd, right at the end of the deck, feeling the breeze coming off the ocean in stark contrast to the heat of the dance floor behind them. It was still loud, thrumming, but it was nothing compared to the blood in Bruce’s veins as he stood there next to him, choking in what he couldn’t say. 

And then Natasha was there, and Clint, excitedly patting him on the arm, sweaty and drunk and holding up her own champagne flute.

“We thought we’d lost you!” she shouted over the music. 

“Bruce decided he could dance,” Tony answered back, nudging him affectionately with his elbow and Bruce just turned to look out over the beach. 

It was covered in private parties and little bonfires and people celebrating in their own way. There were boats out on the water lit up like Christmas and Natasha stepped over to watch it with him for a minute as they called out a five minute warning.

Tony’s hand was on the small of his back and he leaned into him, feeling completely free, like nothing could drag him down. He was so close to the sun now... 

The DJ was announcing the countdown and Bruce turned to Tony, feeling shy, heart pounding. He’d been to New Years Eve parties before, of course, but nothing on this scale, and it felt so  _ big _ – everything. The venue, the music, the crowd, the beach, his feelings – all of it. He was there with Tony and it was so new and so special and so perfect and as he counted down with him he was smiling so wide his face hurt but he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to. 

And when they kissed confetti rained down from above and there was the telltale whistle of fire works before the whole sky exploded with professional displays all up and down the beach and all of it felt like nothing compared to the way he felt about kissing Tony.

Tony ran his hand through Bruce’s hair as he let him go, cradling his head tenderly, and as dumb as it was Bruce just wanted Tony to look at him like that for the rest of his life. His hair was covered in confetti and his smile was so big and warm and his eyes looked up overhead at the fireworks, shining, and he took a sip of champagne with Bruce before turning out to look at the fireworks, clutching his hand in his. 

And next to him was Natasha, standing particularly still as Clint was talking in her ear. She laughed and shook her head and Bruce watched out of the corner of his eye as Clint slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a little black box and she slapped a hand over her mouth, shocked. 

“I don’t want to spend a single year without you,” he shouted, loud enough to be heard over the fireworks, and Bruce was pretty sure Natasha was crying and he squeezed Tony’s hand tighter. 

He had expected to feel jealousy or anger when Natasha came back with a ring – or at the very least, melancholy. But whether it was Tony or the fireworks or the alcohol or the whole thing, he was smiling. All he felt was joy as Natasha threw her arms around Clint’s neck, bypassing the ring completely, not like so many movies he had seen where she would wait until it was on her finger, assessing it with weepy gratitude before kissing him and saying ‘yes.’ 

And Tony squeezed his hand back, sipping his champagne and staring at the sky, and a week and a half ago Bruce would have told you that feeling the way he felt right then was impossible. But now? 

Natasha grabbed Bruce’s arm, the ring now adorning her finger. 

“Did you know?” she asked, her face gleaming, and Bruce grinned back, nodding. 

“Yeah, he told us last night,” Bruce said loudly as the music regained volume and the fireworks faded off. “Congratulations!” 

She hugged him and Tony at the same time and they laughed and hugged her back. And then Tony grabbed Clint and hugged him too, clapping him hard on the back. 

“Let’s get dinner tomorrow – my treat!” Tony was saying as he let Clint go. 

“I have to call my mom!” Natasha exclaimed suddenly and Clint laughed. 

“It’s midnight!” 

“It’s New Years Eve and we’re  _ engaged _ !”

She laughed too, marveling at the ring on her hand for a moment, before giving them both another impromptu hug and dragging Clint away to somewhere they could call. 

Tony looked at him and they both laughed. He set his empty champagne flute on the flat rail of the deck and pulled Bruce into him with both hands, kissing him and grinding against him in time to the music. But Bruce was done with that now, it wasn’t what he wanted then. All he wanted was to lie in the quiet of the room with Tony’s naked body against his and breathe. 

“Let’s go,” he whispered in Tony’s ear, feeling him shiver. 

In the quiet of the hotel hallway Bruce realized he was a lot more drunk than he thought he was and he collapsed on the bed fully dressed. Tony slid his blazer off and laid it over the back of the chair before moving over to him, grinning wolfishly as he slipped the next button on his shirt and kissed his chest. Bruce slid his hand through his hair as he felt the next button give way to Tony’s nimble fingers. 

“Tony,” Bruce said softly, grabbing his hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing the backs of his fingers. 

But he couldn’t make himself say what he wanted to say. 

“Let me suck your dick,” Tony growled with a smirk. 

Bruce laughed as Tony slipped the rest of the buttons on his shirt, throwing it open, sliding the belt out of his pants in one strong stroke, unzipping them and freeing his dick from it’s constraints. And Bruce groaned as he went down on him but he was too drunk and Tony was too drunk and it felt good but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to come. 

“Tony,” he called again and Tony looked up at him with his dick in his mouth and he was so fucking hot like that Bruce couldn’t stand it. 

He stood up and Tony moved away to accommodate him, laughing on unsteady feet. Bruce let his pants fall to the floor, his boxers too, and he reached out for Tony, unbuttoning his shirt for him and planting a tender kiss on his neck. And each button he unbuttoned he placed another kiss – on his chest, on his jaw, on his collarbone, on his neck again. He unbuttoned his pants, slipped them off his hips, and kissed his lips slowly, savoring it with the feeling of his bare skin beneath his. 

“Tony,” he mumbled against his lips, touching his face with just his fingertips, drawing away a little to look at the way Tony’s half-closed eyes gazed at him as if in a dream, lips hanging open just a bit, waiting patiently for another kiss. 

But he still didn’t know how to say it and so he kissed him again, pushing him back into the bed, laying with him on the fluffy, white duvet, moonlight streaming through the windows as he exalted him with the softest kisses until they both fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....... shhhh but this is MY favorite chapter...


	13. Tuesday, January 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am considering postponing updating this next week in light of the fact that I will be posting every single day for Science Bros Week next week. Just a head's up. =) Thank you for reading!!

Bruce gasped softly, his teeth grazing the skin of Tony’s neck, tucked up against him as they moved together, slow and sweaty, legs entwined. He had no idea how long they had been at it, but time had no meaning and it was an exquisite kind of torture, every minute of it was bliss. 

He hadn’t meant to originally but after looking at his phone he had accidentally woken Tony up with kisses he couldn’t contain. Natasha had sent him a string of messages he hadn’t even seen yesterday at the party. 

_ We’re standing right here and you guys don’t even see us _

_ Oh my god you dummy _

_ i told you he only has eyes for you!!! _

There was a string of eye emojis and then two somewhat dark and soft pictures attached of them dancing. It was incredibly personal and intimate and Bruce blushed to look at them gazing into each other’s eyes, Tony just leaning in to kiss him, but he stared at those pictures a long, long time, eyes flitting up to Tony laying in bed next to him... 

He couldn’t stop himself from kissing his forehead, touching his face, remembering how he felt as they danced together, his heart about to burst with all of the...  _ feelings _ stuffed in there.

And it wasn’t long before they ended up tangled up in each other. But finally Tony’s hand slid down between their hips and Bruce grabbed his elbow. 

“Stop,” he sighed into the dip in his neck and Tony actually whined. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re a masochist.”

Bruce chuckled breathily but truthfully, his own dick was so hard it hurt, each shift of his flesh against Tony’s making him physically ache but he didn’t want it to end. Maybe he  _ was _ a masochist. 

He kissed him but it was difficult to maintain even that amount of concentration as Tony’s hips rocked against him and each ounce of applied pressure made him tremble. 

“I’m  _ so _ close,” Tony whimpered and Bruce felt it like a static charge through his body, dispersing through his veins. 

“Me too,” he mumbled back, not willing to do a damn thing about it, still holding Tony’s arm hostage. 

Tony made this high pitched noise in the back of his throat that was nearly more than Bruce could take. 

“Touch me,  _ please _ ,” Tony pleaded, an onslaught Bruce couldn’t possibly resist for long. 

“But –”

“ _ Please _ ,” he asked again, the plaintive whine in Tony’s voice overriding what remained of Bruce’s higher brain function. “Baby,  _ please _ – I  _ need _ it.”

“Fuck,” Bruce muttered, admitting defeat but holding out another minute just to hear Tony beg for it a little longer. 

Then he let Tony’s arm go, slipping his own hand down with Tony’s, feeling him physically writhe as he gripped him in his hand – though he wasn’t far behind. It only took a moment but Bruce got off to the way Tony’s face completely relaxed when he came, like everything was falling away, falling away and leaving him in this place of absolute peace – and Bruce knew he was the one who gave him that. 

And he came too, watching him, feeling it down to his toes, acutely relieved and still missing the absence of that tension at the same time.

“God,” Tony sighed, turning over on his back and stretching, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his wrist. Then his eyes looked over at him. “I really did need that.”

Bruce laughed where he lay, watching him breathe. He closed his eyes, completely comfortable. Tony shivered a little with post orgasmic aftershock, snickering at himself, and Bruce smiled. He literally caught himself thinking how cute Tony was and buried his head deeper into the pillow. 

But he  _ was _ cute. 

“C’mere,” Tony motioned as he grabbed his phone and sat up against the headboard. “Help me decide where to make reservations tonight.”

Bruce grabbed his own phone and slid up next to Tony, leaning his chin on his shoulder and looking over at his phone as he was scrolling a list of restaurants in the area. 

“What do you think? Lobster? I know they got steak the other night... I want to go somewhere nice, you know?” 

“Lobster...” Bruce hummed appreciatively and Tony grinned at him, squeezing his thigh. 

“I always forget how much you like lobster. Have you ever had a whole steamed lobster?”

Bruce snorted and rolled his eyes. “No.”

“We’ll have to change that,” Tony replied, kissing his temple affectionately before turning back to his phone to find a place he liked the reviews of. 

Bruce turned to his own phone, seeing a text from his mom saying  _ Happy New Year! _ with a string of celebratory emojis and he grinned, amused she finally figured out emojis. Technology was nothing she had ever shown much interest in but he loved that she tried for him. 

“Hey,” Bruce said, opening his camera and turning it forward facing. “Take a picture with me?” 

Tony was clearly surprised by the request but he smiled for the camera anyway, just a shot from the shoulders up, but Bruce was genuinely smiling too, feeling truly uninhibited by any of their limitations right then. Maybe Natasha was right. It wasn’t the 1600s anymore. He knew he had to be more than just a convenient romp for Tony. They would figure it out.

“Thanks,” he said, looking back down at his phone to send it to his mom. 

“Where are you posting that?” Tony asked, more amused than he was concerned.

“I’m not,” Bruce replied absently as he typed out his own ‘happy new year.’ “I’m sending it to my mom.”

Tony started laughing as he hit send and he looked over, confused as to why that was funny. 

“You don’t want me to post a picture of you at brunch but you’ll send a selfie to your mom right after you’ve fucked a guy?” 

Bruce blushed and shrugged, biting down on his lower lip, trying not to smile. It had been years since he felt this way and it was just... They had never discussed his sexuality but his mom would be happy for him. She would understand. He wanted her to know.

He leaned back into Tony’s shoulder, watching him pull up a menu and scan through it, content just to be close to him. And Tony wrapped his arm around his shoulder, pulling his hand through his hair, just like he liked, and it was something only Tony had ever done, and it made him feel so warm and special. He hoped there was something like that about him that Tony liked, too. 

“I’m going to get us reservations at this place,” Tony said, pulling up their number, “and buy you a whole damn lobster.”

Bruce grinned at him shyly, tucked up against him, listening as Tony made the reservation. Tony was so dashing to him... Bruce wondered if this was what Betty had wanted him to be. Tony always knew what to say, what to do, how to get it. But Bruce could never be that. He knew that but now he understood more intimately just how much of a failure he was. Bruce loved her, but it wasn’t enough. He wondered if loving him would be enough for Tony. He wondered if there would ever be a way for Bruce to take care of  _ him _ . 

His phone vibrated, interrupting his train of thought, and he picked it up, opening a reply from his mom.

_ You look so happy sweetie. Just be careful. Men are different creatures. _

Bruce frowned as he stared at the message. He understood why his mom had sent it, especially given... everything. But he didn’t want to read it then. He just wanted to be happy. 

He dropped his phone on the bed next to him. Tony was saying something about getting brunch as he texted Natasha the details and Bruce kissed his shoulder. He looked over at him, his voice fading off, and Bruce kissed him hard on the mouth, just wanting to drown in him completely – all over again. 

Tony kissed him back for a minute before pulling away, chuckling at him. 

“If you’re looking for round two you’re going to have to give me a little more time.”

“No, I –” Bruce laughed, already feeling better. “Where did you want to go for brunch?” 

It turned out what Tony really wanted to do was lay in the sand on the beach so they wiped themselves down and put on swim trunks and tees and went down to the counter service restaurant in the lobby. And Tony bought them drinks to go and they headed out to the beach. Tony claimed some seats with an unadulterated view of the ocean, screwing his beer bottle into the sand and striping off his shirt. 

“I’m ready to get burnt,” Tony said as he lowered the lounge seat completely and flopped down on his stomach. 

Bruce rolled his eyes and drug over a nearby umbrella no one was using, setting it up to cover him and Tony smiled up at him. 

“I’m not going to listen to you bitch and be miserable,” he replied, sitting down in the shade next to Tony, and his smile widened. 

“I knew you loved me,” he teased but it wasn’t like when they were sitting in that McDonald’s what felt like ten years ago – no. Now it was too close to the truth.

Tony reached out his hand and Bruce took it, twining their fingers together and holding them tight as he redownloaded the Kindle app on his phone. There were several scholarly articles he was supposed to be reviewing and it sure wouldn’t hurt to get back into that mental place before returning to his thesis next week. 

Although he didn’t mean to he fell asleep with his phone on his chest, lulled by the rhythmic sound of the ocean and the warmth of the sun and Tony snoring quietly beside him. 

When Bruce woke up he looked over sleepily, expecting to see Tony beside him, but he came to the startling realization he was alone. He sat up quickly, scanning the beach with a rising sense of dread... but then he spotted him out in the surf, laughing with some young kids. 

Bruce watched as they followed him out as deep as they could go and he oriented the first one on his bodyboard, holding on to him and talking him through it before he released him with a wave, cheering with his buddies as he rode it in to the sand. The other two boys clamored to have Tony help them next and he made some kind of distinction as to their place in line and gave the next kid the same spiel. 

Now Bruce didn’t really think his heart could be any more full than it already was but somehow watching Tony be so unreservedly giving with his time to some young kids he didn’t even know? And  _ enjoying _ it? It just made him feel like... Christ. It made him feel like Tony was the kindest man in the world. How could Pepper have willingly given this up?  

Tony stayed out there for a while, helping them out, laughing when they crashed into the water unsuccessfully, and Bruce closed out of his reading, watching him instead. At some point Tony realized he was awake and waved at him and Bruce waved back, just a little thing, a dumb smile on his face. 

But eventually they got the hang of it and Tony left them to it, coming back to join Bruce on the sand. It was an exercise in torture to watch Tony walk up to him, soaking wet, his bathing suit clinging to every inch of him, leaving nothing to the imagination and somehow sexier than if he’d been completely naked. But Bruce tried not to let it on, how hot and bothered he was by it. 

Tony grabbed his towel, toweling off his neck and upper body in such an understated way, and even  _ that _ was sexy and Bruce was pretty sure at this point he was in hell. 

“I always wished I had a big brother, you know,” Tony said as he sat down next to him, stretching his legs until they were tucked up under Bruce’s chair. 

“Being an only child sucks,” Bruce agreed, his voice coming out thicker than he wanted and he tried to cough to clear it. “Not that, well – I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to suffer through what I did.”

Tony frowned. “I guess that’s true. I always imagined it like... He would protect me, stand up to our dad. I guess that’s dumb. But if I’d had a younger brother...” 

“You would have,” Bruce said quietly, sitting up and turning towards him, placing his legs on either side of Tony’s, not needing to say it all for Tony to know what he meant. 

He picked up his warm beer and had a sip, grimacing. “My mom had a lot of miscarriages... before and after me. She didn’t like to talk about it, but she had wanted a big family. It... you know. Added to the stress. To be the only one.” 

Bruce looked down at his hands, wondering if he should tell him. He’d never said it out loud before, not even to Betty. It was just... She had a happy childhood. It was hard for her to understand. 

“My mom had a miscarriage too,” he said slowly, remembering how he would touch his mother’s stomach, trying to feel the baby kick, but she wasn’t big enough yet. “My little sister. She made it twenty-two weeks before my dad beat my mom so badly she miscarried.”

At five years old Bruce had shut down, tried to block it out. He knew she was in the hospital for nearly a week after, dealing with her own injuries, but the only thing he really remembered was the blood stain on the carpet that his father refused to clean himself. Bruce could never understand why she didn’t press charges. 

Tony reached for his hands and held them in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently against the tops of them. “I had no idea.” 

Bruce looked away because it was too hard to look at people when they looked at him  _ like that _ . Which is why it was easier not to talk about it. 

“Let’s go,” Tony said, standing. “Let’s get a shower.”

Tony grabbed his stuff and held his hand all the way back to the room where he shut the door and kissed him gently, cradling his face, running his hands all through his hair. But it didn’t feel like pity, not the way it usually did after he opened up about his childhood. It felt more like... sympathy. Understanding. 

Tony undressed him and washed his hair and kissed him and Bruce reciprocated, kissing his ear, the back of his neck, his shoulders. After so long of dragging himself through his routine to get to the point where he could care for himself, care for his mom – it was just nice to feel cared about by someone else for a moment. He figured Tony had to know that, had to want it too. 

They lay together in bed and watched TV until it was time to get ready, Tony with his head in his lap, Bruce stroking the back of his head, his neck, his shoulders. And Tony snuggled in deeper, hugging his leg, making absent-minded comments about the people on TV. 

He texted with Natasha to confirm plans as it grew closer to time to leave and he rolled to look up at Bruce, reaching up to pull one of his loose curls down across his forehead, grinning. 

“I’ve told you how glad I am you came, right?” 

Bruce smiled back down at him, leaning down into an awkward kiss that left them both laughing. 

“Yeah – I’m glad I came too.”

“Even after I punched you?” 

“Even after you punched me.” 

Tony sat up and kissed him again and then they got ready – which really meant that Tony got ready and Bruce watched, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and talking to him through the doorway. 

“You had to have pulled it, though,” Bruce called, a distinctly teasing lilt to his voice. 

“I did not!” Tony replied.

“Pretty weak then!” 

“Your lip was  _ bleeding _ !” 

“Cut on my teeth,” Bruce replied as Tony walked back in on him, situating himself between his legs and smirking down at him. 

“I can try again if you want,” Tony answered, balling his hand into a fist and tucking it up under Bruce’s chin. 

“I’d rather something else,” Bruce replied cheekily and Tony laughed, pushing his chin up with his fist before leaning in to kiss him. 

Bruce’s eyelids fell closed and he opened his mouth reflexively but Tony’s lips barely brushed his before he pulled away, moving back to the bathroom, laughing at him. 

“You’re too easy!” 

Bruce was more amused than he was embarrassed and he got up, stalking Tony. 

“ _ I’m _ easy?” 

“Yup,” he replied smugly, picking up a pair of scissors to trim his goatee. 

It wasn’t very suave but then that wasn’t his strong suit – but suave didn’t really matter to Tony and he knew it. Bruce moved in and grabbed Tony's hips, pressing his ass hard into his own hips, slipping his hand straight down Tony’s thigh, between his legs. Tony gasped, dropping the scissors in the sink, gripping the porcelain and leaning back into him. He was instantly hard and Bruce felt it against his arm and it gave him a keen sense of satisfaction that that was all it took for him to make Tony hard. 

But just as quickly as he had moved in, Bruce moved away. 

“ _ I’m _ easy,” Bruce chuckled, rolling his eyes as he walked out, and Tony glared at him over his shoulder. 

“Okay, no,” he called as he smoothed his shirt, trying to regain control of himself, “ _ you’re _ an asshole!” 

“That’s for punching me!” he called back, picking up his phone and checking it before sliding it into his pocket and slipping on his shoes. 

“We  _ will _ continue this,” Tony said as he left the bathroom, a serious glint in his eyes as he put on his own shoes. 

“Is that a threat?” Bruce asked as he slid up next to him, kissing him, smelling the warmth of his cologne. 

“Yeah it is,” Tony laughed back against his lips, kissing him again. 

They walked down together to meet Natasha and Clint and hailed a Lyft down to the restaurant. Natasha was practically glowing in the center seat between them and they shared a matching smile. Maybe that was why she thought it was so ridiculous that they weren’t dating – because he looked like  _ that _ around Tony.

“Was your mom excited?” 

“Oh my gosh,  _ yes _ ,” she enthused while Clint looked like he wanted to sink into the seat next to her. “She loves Clint. I’m pretty sure she already has half the wedding planned in her head.” 

“I don’t think anything would make my mom happier, either,” Tony confessed, carefully avoiding Bruce’s eyes as he looked back at Natasha. 

“Unfortunately for her we have often discussed eloping,” Natasha admitted but Clint piped up then. 

“If it’s important to her, we’ll have a wedding.” 

Bruce thought that was rather kind of him and Natasha smiled over at him lovingly, with her hand on his leg. 

“That’s why she loves you,” Nat teased, pinching his cheek affectionately as he frowned. 

“She’s got a low bar as far as boyfriends are concerned,” Clint replied. “I can thank your sisters for that.” 

It was a short drive, really, but too long to walk, so they only got one story in about Natasha’s younger sister’s boyfriend who had convinced her to move across the country only to pack up and leave while she was at work a few months later before they pulled up at the restaurant. 

The building was an unassuming white facade but when they walked inside it was simply stunning. A gorgeous barrel vaulted ceiling of variegated cream brick with giant light fixtures harking back to the art deco scene in Miami and clean, organized white tables beneath. It certainly was classy – though Bruce expected no less from Tony. 

They were seated rather quickly thanks to their reservation and Natasha glanced at their surroundings, smiling her knowing little smile. 

“It smells fantastic in here,” she murmured and Tony agreed, with a much wider smile, eyes alight. 

Tony ordered them a bottle of chablis and a cocktail for Clint along with calamari and escargot, which they tortured him mercilessly for. 

“So what you’re telling me none of you have ever eaten snails?” Tony asked, absolutely shocked as they laughed at him. “ _ None _ of you?”

“Who eats snails?” Clint laughed. 

“The entire country of France!” Tony defended deftly. “Not to mention Spain, Italy, Portugal, Greece – I could go on.”

“But we’re in ‘Murica,” Clint replied sarcastically and Tony laughed. “We don’t eat that shit here.”

“You’re going to today,” Tony said as the waitress came back to deliver their drinks, asking Tony if he’d like to taste the wine first though he passed and just let her pour it. “You’re engaged – you have to have eaten a snail before you get married.”

“A prerequisite I assure you I was unaware of,” Natasha grinned. 

“They’re good, you’ll like ‘em.”

“At least they’re cooked,” Bruce offered gamely, having done plenty this week that he never anticipated doing and sucking a dick was way more intimidating than some cooked snails. Unless... “I hope.”

“They’re cooked,” Tony laughed, sipping his wine and giving Bruce an affectionate smile.

Bruce didn’t even look at the menu, just letting Tony order them the steak and lobster for two – which seemed incredibly romantic to him, incredibly personal, even though he was sure it wasn’t, but he loved it anyway. And Natasha got a lobster pasta dish and Clint got a scallop dish. And their squid and snails came only moments later.

“Oh, they look so cute!” Natasha said. “Like they’re wearing little hats.”

Bruce laughed because it was true – having been baked into little puff pastries and garlic butter sauce, not in their shells like he was expecting. Tony made everyone hand them a plate to receive one before slipping one into his own mouth whole, chewing it appreciatively and grinning. 

“These ones really are particularly good, okay – and I’ve eaten a number of snails.”

Bruce and Natasha glanced at one another and then Clint, kind of psyching each other up, but Bruce was pretty sure at this point he would go wherever Tony asked him to follow and he popped the whole thing in his mouth as well, following Tony’s lead. 

It took him a minute to ascertain how he felt about it but ultimately he was pleasantly surprised – it was slightly chewy but the flavor profile was mostly garlic and butter and that he was more than okay with. Truly the worst part was knowing that it was a snail. If he hadn’t known it was a snail, he might have assumed it was a mushroom. 

“It’s not bad,” Bruce confirmed and Tony nodded with a pleased smile.

“It’s a little gritty, yeah?” Natasha asked as she swallowed. “But yeah, not bad.”  

Despite being the most hesitant, Clint was the most into it, and he and Tony had the last two while Natasha and Bruce helped themselves to calamari. 

When their food came it was presented beautifully and Bruce was sure it was the best meal he had ever eaten in his life. The steak was so buttery and tender, the lobster cooked impeccably... He had a new understanding for why Tony could be so particular about food. Bruce couldn’t imagine growing up eating the way he ate on this trip. 

“I’m glad we got to do this,” Natasha said after a moment, twirling pasta on her fork. “It’s our last night here, you know.” 

Bruce frowned. He had remembered her saying something about that, but had forgotten. 

“I’m sure they miss you at work,” Clint joked and she glared at him. 

“If they haven’t hired someone else by the time I get back...” she glowered, taking a bite and chewing angrily. 

Bruce and Tony carefully didn’t look at one another. They hadn’t discussed it yet but Bruce knew they needed to – when they were going to leave themselves. They’d been here eleven days, it had to come to an end sooner or later. Whether Tony wanted to admit it or not. 

Clint was saying something about staying in touch, how they should visit Atlanta, and Tony put his hand over Bruce’s just a moment as he replied in his typical upbeat and positive manner and Bruce realized he’d been staring into his plate morosely and he sat up, tried to smile. Endings always felt bad – this was no exception. 

“Maybe the Outer Banks,” Tony suggested and they both smiled. 

“You could even sail down from Boston,” Natasha replied and Clint nodded along, going on about the wild horses and how secluded it could be compared to Miami Beach.

“It sounds nice,” Bruce agreed, trying not to get too caught up in the idea of Tony and him renting a boat and sailing down the coast and how stunningly romantic that would be but he was having a hard time not imagining them in a tiny bed together, rocked by the lull of the ocean, nothing but the blank expansive of space above them and no one to hear Tony moan but him. 

He felt better when they changed topics and dinner was nice, really, and Tony graciously picked up the check as he said he would and they walked down the street to get a gelato. And since the night was nice and the breeze off the ocean was cool they decided to take the long walk back to the hotel and enjoy each other’s company for another half hour or so.

“I’m telling you,  _ Italy _ ,” Tony reminisced whimsically as he swiped at his ice cream, savoring it. “You can have pizza and pasta and stracciatella every day of your honeymoon.”

“I don’t think you have to sell it that hard,” Bruce teased, walking close enough that his hand kept brushing up against Tony’s.

“I’m still holding out for Vegas,” Clint said with a laugh and Natasha bumped him with her shoulder. 

“As long as I’m with you,” she said softly and Bruce couldn’t help but steal a glance at Tony. 

He seemed happy. Oblivious. Bruce felt like they were on the precipice of something here, like right before Tony kissed him, but he couldn’t figure it out. Being with Natasha and Clint – it was like... He wanted that. What they had. He’d thought he could have it with Betty but... he couldn’t. Looking at Tony – him looking back up at him, smiling a little, eyes warm and loving – he wondered if he could have that with him. A week was too soon to know but... maybe. Maybe.

They hugged as they parted ways for the last time, Natasha whispering to him that she wanted to know what happened with Tony and Bruce promising he’d stay in touch. They stood outside on the boardwalk a long moment, watching Clint and Natasha walk back to their own hotel, hand in hand. And then Tony wrapped his arm around Bruce’s neck, pulling him in to kiss his temple. 

“Ready?” 

Bruce nodded as they walked back up into the safety of their room. Tony was slipping off his belt and Bruce, overwhelmed, just stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, laying his head on his shoulders, holding him. And Tony put one hand over his, stroking his thumb across his knuckles. 

“Dinner was good?”

“Yeah,” Bruce breathed as Tony turned around in his arms, kissing him gently. “It was perfect.”

It was just... It was  _ so _ nice and Bruce kissed him back, tasting ice cream, tasting Tony, and he pulled him in closer. 

“Can it be like this?” he asked, quiet, almost afraid of it but needing to know, needing to hear Tony say it. “When we go back to Boston?” 

Instantly he regretted saying anything at all as Tony’s once pliable body locked up completely and he took a step back, out of Bruce’s arms. 

“I told you – I’m not going back.”

Bruce stared back at him – the way he clenched his teeth, puffed his chest defensively – and he wondered why Tony was looking for a fight. He didn’t want to fight him. He just... 

“I have to go back,” Bruce said slowly, hoping Tony would understand. “I can’t just... not go back.”

“Why not?” Tony asked and Bruce didn’t even know where to begin. 

“Because I need that fucking degree?” 

It came out a little meaner than Bruce had intended but it was like... how could Tony  _ not _ understand? All that talk about how Betty could never understand him, like Tony knew any better. It was the same shit all over again. Tony was rich and it didn’t matter to him.

“No, no, you can still get your degree but –”

“What?” Bruce interrupted and Tony ran his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“Stay here with me, in Miami,” Tony said and Bruce felt completely blindsided. Hadn’t he just said...?

“And what – live off your inheritance? I can’t –” 

“No, my dad would probably cut us off, but – but I figured it all out,” Tony was saying as Bruce’s own hackles began to rise. 

He wanted to back up, wanted to get out of there, but he still only had twenty dollars to his name and Tony was talking, gesturing with his hands, making like he wanted to touch him but was too afraid of what he was going to say. 

“We can go get a shitty apartment in the city, you know, I don’t care, I don’t care where we live,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth so fast Bruce could do nothing but stare. “I’ll get a job as a mechanic, I know I can, you know I can, I’m good at that, it’ll pay decent, and you can transfer and finish your degree at U of M. And – and who cares if you have to take out a semester's worth of student loans, huh? It’s only a semester and then you can get a job anywhere you want – I’ll go anywhere, baby. New York, Seattle, Denver, Atlanta – just wherever you get a job and then I’ll go back to school, okay? I’ll finish my degree and we can get a better place, a nicer one, and I don’t care where it is, as long as I’m with you, as long as –”

“As long as it’s not Boston,” Bruce interjected and Tony deflated, nodding his head. 

He couldn’t believe Tony had thought of all that, made up this whole elaborate plan to avoid going back and seeing Pepper. He tried to make it sound as if he was thinking about him, but Bruce knew better than that. He saw it for exactly what it was – Pepper came first and he was always going to play second fiddle to her. Which wouldn’t even bother him that much except – 

Except  _ nothing _ in that plan accounted for  _ him _ . It was wholly about Tony and his feelings. And he made it seem like sure, it was about him, Bruce could choose – but he couldn’t. Bruce had to get that degree. He had to get that degree and get a nice place where he could move his mother. He couldn’t afford to spend years dicking around in a shitty apartment – a thing Tony truly did not understand. His father was getting out of jail  _ now _ and he couldn’t waste time with student loans and hoping his credits transferred when he had so little time left.  

“You’re just the same,” he laughed, but it was cruel and sad and he watched Tony’s heart crumple in his eyes as he said it. “You don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get? I’ll do  _ anything _ . I’ll work two jobs so you can go to school full time. I’ll do whatever I need to –”

“Shut up,” Bruce snapped. “Just – shut up. You have  _ no _ idea what you’re even talking about. A shitty apartment? What is your idea of a shitty apartment exactly? Are you ready to live somewhere with roaches and perma-damp, mold infested drywall where you hear your next door neighbor’s girlfriend getting beat every other night of the week?” 

Tony’s frown grew deeper. “Baby, I would–” 

“I don’t  _ want _ that anymore!” Bruce shouted back, not wanting any kind of justification from  _ him _ . “Don’t you understand? I went to MIT to get a degree I could  _ never _ afford on my own so that I could leave all of that behind me, so that I could get a decent place where I could move my mom in and she could be safe too. That’s what I want. That’s  _ all _ I want.”

“But you can have that!” Tony insisted. “I don’t care if your mom lives with us, I’ll support her too. We can get an in-law suite and –”

Bruce was laughing again, so derisively Tony stopped dead in his tracks. 

“An in-law suite? Do you know how stupid you sound?” 

It was mean but Bruce was mad now. No – he was pissed. Things were so easy for Tony, everything was so fucking easy for him that any dumbass thought that came to his head was a possibility. What wouldn’t he give to live in such a fantasy?

“That shit is expensive, everything about you is expensive. You act like it’s easy because  _ everything _ is easy for you, you don’t know what it’s like for it to be hard.”

“Come on, I –”

“No!” Bruce stopped him, not wanting to be interrupted now. “I was going to propose to Betty, did you know that?”

He watched the way Tony flinched, the way his shoulders hunched like it hurt to hear it, and selfishly he gloated over that pain, glad he could make him hurt the way it hurt for him to suggest all that shit they could never have because he just wouldn’t suck it the fuck up and go back to Boston. 

“But I couldn’t. I couldn’t afford the ring because I had to send all the money I had managed to save up for it to my mom so she could make her mortgage payment and bills for that month because she can’t make enough money as a cashier and my dad is in jail. 

“Do you know what that’s like? No. No you fucking don’t. Two thousand dollars is  _ nothing _ to you and it’s  _ everything _ I had!”

“Bruce,” Tony whined but Bruce had stormed to the other side of the room, his anger becoming a physical thing that he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to contain for much longer. 

“But you  _ think _ you can just give all that up – and why? So you don’t have to see your ex-girlfriend again? Because she hurt your fucking feelings?” 

His voice was growing louder and he hated it, he always fucking hated it when he got like this, just like his fucking dad – but seeing Tony’s look of grief just stoked the flame in his gut and he didn’t know how to stop it. 

“ _ No _ you asshole!” Tony shouted back, truly hurt this time, and Bruce tamped down a wicked grin born of vindication. “Because maybe she wouldn’t have had the abortion if she thought I knew how to be a  _ fucking _ man!” 

“And you think giving all that up will make you into a man?” Bruce asked quietly. 

He could see the tears in Tony’s eyes, see the way his jaw was trembling, see that he meant it – God, fuck, he really meant it. But Bruce was way beyond the point of sympathy. He was too far gone.

Maybe, if he hadn’t grown up the way he had. Maybe, if it hadn’t been lorded over him at MIT. Maybe, if he hadn’t experienced first hand this week just what Tony’s life was like. Maybe, if it hadn’t driven an impossible wedge between him and Betty. Maybe, if all of those things had been different he could have had some amount of sympathy for Tony, some understanding of what he was going through. But as it was to Bruce he just sounded like a petulant brat with no understanding of the way the world worked. Another fucking rich kid who duped him into believing that he could possibly understand him enough to love him. 

“ _ Fuck you _ ,” Bruce growled, his whole body shaking with unresolved tension, punctuating each ‘fuck you’ with a hard, angry finger in Tony’s direction, glad that he was far enough away that Bruce couldn’t reach him because he was truly afraid of what he’d do if he hadn’t locked himself down so hard. “ _ Fuck you _ for bringing me all the way down here when you  _ knew _ I couldn’t afford to get back.  _ Fuck you _ for acting like you could understand one goddamn thing about me and my life.  _ Fuck you _ for making me think you gave a damn and then choosing all your shit over mine. Just – just  _ fuck you _ .”

And without letting Tony get another word in he turned and left. 

He didn’t really know where he was going at first – just knew he had to get the fuck away from Tony before he really did something he’d regret. His anger was like a living thing inside him, burning him up, making him act in a way he knew he’d hate a few hours later but he couldn’t stop it. He could only try to control it, try to get away so he wouldn’t hurt Tony any more. He never wanted to be that guy – it was just that... he was. In his heart of hearts he was and maybe Tony’s dad had hurt him but Tony could never understand what it was like to have a piece of shit like his dad running through his DNA. 

Bruce felt like he was suffocating on the stale Miami air but he powered through it, walking straight out to the beach. The roar of the surf fit his mood, the angry pitch black water churning like the writhing pit inside him. There was a pier not far from the beach access pathway and Bruce walked up and across it, way out to the middle where all he could hear was the sound of water smacking the supports and all he could see was blackness on the horizon and all he could feel was the numbness of his own anger and he planted his hands on the railing until his knuckles were white and he screamed his frustration into the void. 

The amount it hurt was insane. It was way worse than anything he could have anticipated. It was like taking a hit everywhere, everywhere. It was bad enough to lose Betty – that hurt was still there. But on top of it he lost a thing he never even had with Tony. A thing he wanted, a thing he – fuck. Of course he wanted to stay here in Miami with Tony, let him rent them a place, come home after class to spaghetti with a cheap-ass jar of sale Ragu for the fourth time that week and fuck him into a Goodwill mattress and not give a damn about any of it because they were together but – 

That was  _ his _ life, not Tony’s. And Tony... Tony couldn’t live like that. And Bruce couldn’t live the rest of his life in guilt knowing he could have made it better for her – for both of them – if he hadn’t just run away from all of it to be with Tony. 

Because he wouldn’t finish school. They wouldn’t be able to afford a place in the city on a single mechanic’s salary and Bruce would get a job to help sustain them. And they would constantly be struggling. And nothing would change, none of the past three and a half years would mean anything, and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that – not for love. Not when Tony didn’t even know what it would really take to love him like that. Whatever Tony wanted to believe, Bruce knew – love wouldn’t be enough. 

Eventually, though, as it always did, the anger burnt out and left him hollow inside, empty with nothing but a sinking, gapping feeling where everything else was supposed to be, and he collapsed on the deck of the pier, burying his face in his knees and wishing he could just fucking cry. He hated wanting to cry and not being able to. There was no worse feeling in the world than being a hapless prisoner to the whims of your own body. 

But then the truly unexpected happened. Tony found him and sat down next to him. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Tony – he just knew. And Tony didn’t touch him, didn’t say anything for a long time, just sat there next to him, some little show of... support? Bruce couldn’t feel it – he couldn’t feel anything – but still. Tony was there. 

“I bought you a plane ticket,” he said at last, though it sounded sad and far away and it was hard to hear over the crash of the waves. “I... I didn’t think about how it must have felt for you but... I didn’t mean to make you feel trapped here. I’m sorry.” 

Bruce swallowed hard but still, he didn’t look up.

“I was always going to buy you one, you know. I just... wanted... something else. But you’re right. It was selfish.”

Bruce hated hearing Tony say everything he wanted him to, hated that he was so good at acting like he understood, like he cared. 

“Your flight leaves at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. Everything was booked after the holiday, it was the only time I could get. I forwarded you the booking info and I scheduled you a Lyft at six.”

And here he was, offering Bruce exactly what he needed, because it was so easy for him. Nothing was an object money couldn’t fix – or so Tony thought. But money couldn’t fix this. Money couldn’t fix the rift that would always divide them. Money was that rift. It always would be. Love wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Bruce could never be enough. 

“Look I’m not going to – whatever,” Tony said with a sigh. “But you need to come back to the room to pack and get a little sleep. I’ll leave you alone, you know. I’ll just...”

After a moment it became clear Tony wasn’t going to say anything else and he stood. Bruce looked up at him then, could tell even from that distance that he had been crying, his face a puffy mess. Bruce still wished he could cry.

Without saying anything he stood as well and followed Tony back to the room. He was right – he needed to pack, get a little rest. It was only ten o’clock and he probably wasn’t going to sleep much but still – anything would be better than nothing. 

Packing was a pathetic gesture in which he threw all of his shit into his bag haphazardly as Tony undressed in the background. Frankly he didn’t even care about most of this stuff – half of it was t-shirts Tony had claimed as his own when they were purchased anyway – but he didn’t own very much and he couldn’t leave any portion of his wardrobe down here. He stared at the dress pants Tony had bought him, the pale blue shirt. There was no point in asking, he knew Tony would want him to take them, and it wasn’t like they wouldn’t come in handy, so he shoved them in his bag as well, hating it. 

Bruce left out an outfit for the morning and stripped down to his boxers to put his dirty clothes in the bag as well, brushing his teeth and gathering his toiletries. He was going to sleep on the couch but then Tony was curled up on the very edge of the bed, back facing him, hiding under the covers and Bruce knew, he just  _ knew _ it was going to be a whole fucking thing if he didn’t lay down in bed too. 

So he flipped the lights and lay down on the edge of his side as well, a full arm’s length between them. 

Tony hadn’t moved for a very long time when Bruce finally turned over. Their argument had been playing in his head on repeat since he laid down and now he was staring at Tony’s back, the absolute rejection of that action a palpable thing Bruce could feel in his chest and he hated it. Fuck, how he hated it. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He and Tony, they were... This hurt. It hurt in an entirely new and unexpected way and there was nothing he could say to make it better. 

But Tony did care for him, had cared for him. Tony couldn’t understand but he did  _ feel _ something, didn’t he? They both did, it was undeniable. Every happy moment during the past week and a half hit Bruce like a fucking semi going a hundred miles an hour in the wrong lane and it was – 

Flirting at the pool table and the little kisses on his neck, holding his hand as he grew acclimated to snorkeling and his hand around his neck outside the bathroom at the taco joint, fireworks in his eyes over all of Miami beach and neon lights as they sang on stage, kissing him on the boardwalk and fucking him senseless in bed. It was  _ all _ of it, all of it all at once and it made Bruce ache to be near him again, to have things be okay. And he knew, he  _ knew _ Tony cared, knew all Tony wanted was everything he was used to getting, but this time... 

This time Tony couldn’t have it all.

Everything Bruce had said had been the truth and there was nothing that could change that. Bruce knew that and hell, he was pretty damn sure Tony knew that too. But... But then, sometimes, when there were no words... 

He slid over in Tony’s direction, his chest a bucket full of loose nerves, but he just remembered how Tony touched him when he needed it the most, how Tony’s eyes looked when he opened that bathroom door, how he’d said it all –  _ I’m not doing well _ . It wasn’t fair to leave him like this. Bruce didn’t want... fuck. He didn’t want  _ any _ of this. What he wanted was... was just... 

To hold him in his arms, to love him unreservedly, to kiss him and touch him and make him feel the way Tony had made him feel so many times this week and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t  _ right _ to leave him feeling like he didn’t care at all. He knew from the very beginning they couldn’t really be together but they could still have this – right? One more night?

Cautiously and expecting rejection or at least for Tony to be asleep, Bruce reached out to touch him. It was just a gentle thing and Tony flinched at the contact and Bruce might have pulled away and given up but he heard this shaky little intake of breath in the quiet and he knew he had to try again. 

This time he put his hand more firmly on Tony’s side, feeling the way his body quivered, and Tony grabbed his hand in his own, his shaky inhale turning into a sob as he pulled Bruce’s arm around his body and into a hug. And Bruce moved closer to make it easier, sliding up against him, spooning him as he cried, kissing the back of his neck softly, carefully, holding him tight.

It was hard, the death of a thing that had truly never existed. Bruce felt it too, knew that once he left this room in the morning to get on that plane that it would be over, ripped from their hands and torn apart and left for dead. But until then it still existed, it still breathed between them and they both knew it. They both felt it. And worst of all – they both still wanted it.

Bruce couldn’t help it any more than Tony could. He could tell when Tony’s breathing changed, when it shifted from crying to calm to something else entirely. It was rough and rocky and Bruce pressed kisses up his neck, across his shoulders, back up to his ear, feeling his body respond to him the way it had so many times this week. 

It didn’t feel wrong. Maybe it should have but it didn’t. Bruce had no intentions – his dick was hard against Tony’s ass but he wasn’t going to press it, wasn’t going to do anything at all but hold him – until Tony grabbed his wrist and slid his hand from his chest down between his hips.

Tony’s body trembled as Bruce slipped his hand inside his boxers, wrapped it around the base of his dick. He bit into the back of his hand, muffling the sound he made completely, and Bruce hated that he felt so vulnerable with him that he couldn’t let himself cry out. But it was too late now, it was too late. All Bruce could do now was kiss his back and stroke his dick and hope Tony understood that he didn’t want it to end like this either, not really. Not like this.

The boxers constricted his movements and Tony’s hips began to work back against his own, trying for more friction. And Bruce wanted to give him what he wanted, wanted to make him feel good, wanted to leave him with something because really he didn’t want to leave him at all it was just, he couldn’t... 

He withdrew his hand and Bruce heard the little whine in the back of his throat that he tried to swallow back. But when he reached over Tony for the optimistic bag that sat on his end table after their first time he hastily pushed down his boxers, needy, still wanting to be fucked. Bruce shoved back all of his feelings about that, how pathetic this whole thing was, how sad. Pushed back Tony coming in late, smelling like cigarettes, pushed back all the times he’d implied he self medicated with sex. It was just easier not to think about it. Easier not to think beyond what he wished this could be. 

Bruce pushed down his own boxers, covered his fingers in lube. Tony’s body was taunt with anticipation and when Bruce slipped his fingers inside he whimpered, his hand reaching back to cover Bruce’s, encouraging him to stay there. Bruce’s heart was pounding as Tony rocked back against his hand, fucking it, every little move he made intoxicating, and Bruce just wanted this, just – just so damn bad that he forced everything from his mind just to focus on this, remember this moment so he could have it forever. 

With shaky fingers he slipped on a condom, sliding slowly into the warm heat of Tony’s body, his forehead sweaty against his back, his breathing ragged and needy. Tony’s chest was heaving beneath his hand too and he was making these tortured little sounds and biting them back with his lower lip and all Bruce wanted was to hear him moan his name again, mutter out all those pleasurable curses... but it was too late for that now. It was broken now. 

Bruce fucked him slowly, one hand on his chest, the other on his dick, and with each shallow press forward into his hips he rolled Tony’s dick into his hand, stroking him off steadily. He could hear Tony struggle to maintain control of himself, his moans growing louder despite himself with each thrust of Bruce’s hips. His hand clutched at Bruce’s own where it lay on his chest, twining their fingers together, squeezing it tightly, and somehow that in and of itself almost felt better than fucking him. Just that little bit of intimacy, that neediness, that desire. That’s all Bruce ever wanted – to be wanted. And he knew Tony wanted him but... 

Just not enough. 

“Please,” Tony finally whispered, barely audible over their heavy breathing, his other hand reaching back for Bruce’s hip, digging his fingers into his ass, encouraging him on. “ _ Please _ .”

Bruce was helpless to obey when Tony asked like that and he sped up his hand, listening to Tony groan through clenched teeth and hold him tighter against his body as he came, his body tensing around Bruce’s dick until he was unable to do anything else but follow him down. And he moaned into Tony’s back, tasting the salt of his sweat against his lips, closing his eyes as it rolled through him, humming through his veins and for the first time he understood why the French called it  _ the little death _ . At that moment it sure as hell felt like the death of something.

Tony released his hand slowly, the lack of Tony’s fingers through his making him feel an acute sense of emptiness he didn’t know how to even begin to combat. And he slid out of bed to the bathroom, unable to face himself in the mirror, washing his hands and throwing the condom away and staring at the mess of Tony’s toiletries all over and it felt too close, it felt too much like the way Tony had made a mess of him. 

Bruce didn’t ask for this, kissing him right here, right against this sink, hard and desperate to feel like someone gave a damn. But would he change it? Bruce ran his fingers against the white porcelain. No. No he wouldn’t. 

They traded places, Bruce flopping down in bed as Tony got up, and he stared at the ceiling, begging for sleep. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do. He just had to make it through tonight and if he could just fall asleep then... 

But Tony didn’t say anything when he came back. For a minute he was afraid because Tony turned and faced him for the first time since Bruce had come back to the room. However instead of saying anything he simply slid up near Bruce, pressing his face into the side of his arm, throwing his own arm around his waist. And Bruce felt it all the way through his chest, like Tony had punched straight through it, bent it inwards in some kind of impossible way, pain radiating across his body there. 

It ached but then there was something else there still,  _ because _ there was something else there still. Something warm and something sweet. Something Bruce knew the name of but it didn’t matter now. It didn’t matter anymore. 

Instead of dwelling on it he shut it off, packed it away, pushed it down – down where it should have stayed. And he moved his arm, welcoming Tony into the warm circle of his embrace, letting him pillow his head on his shoulder and holding him close, slipping their fingers together with his other hand, knowing it was over but unable to stop himself from filling the void within him just a little bit longer. 


	14. Wednesday, January 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE'RE BACK. 
> 
> Sorry for the brief hiatus. I'll resume normal posting for the next few chapters. Thank you so much for your patience!! <3

Tony was snoring softly next to him when Bruce’s alarm went off at five thirty that morning. Somehow it was easier than he expected to roll out of bed and into the shower. Sure, he was hurt that Tony didn’t want him enough to go back to Boston with him but he knew he was making the right decision. It was hard to be emotional in the face of cold reality. 

He showered and brushed his teeth and threw his stuff in his bag, dressing in the outfit he wore down – minus his boots. Bruce stared at his feet. Mesh leather shoes weren’t very practical for Boston. While he had tennis shoes back at the apartment, he really wasn’t looking forward to scrounging together the money for a new pair of boots. 

Bruce walked over to Tony’s side of the bed, glanced at his phone and saw on the notification screen that his scheduled Lyft was on the way and should be there within ten minutes. Then he turned to look at Tony, blissfully unaware that Bruce stood over him, about to leave. 

His face was bathed in moonlight, casting strange shadows across it, pale and luminous against the dark and he was beautiful. He had always been beautiful, Bruce had seen it the first time they’d met, Tony jabbing him in the back with a pencil. Bruce had turned around quickly, ready to chew him out, but he was so thoroughly unprepared to see such a beautiful man that the words all died in his throat. 

Maybe it was always going to turn out like this. 

Bruce wanted to sweep his fingers across his cheek, kiss him softly on the forehead, give him one last memento of goodbye, but... He let him sleep. It didn’t matter anyway. Whatever they never really had was over now. This nothingness between them was goodbye. 

He took the elevator to the lobby in silence. Bruce wasn’t used to the hotel being  _ this _ quiet. It was like entering out into another plane, a limbo of sorts, some land between the living and the dead. A place where he was both in and out – he could keep going forward or he could turn around now and the outcome would be completely different. 

But he knew what he had to do. 

It was only a few minutes before the Lyft driver pulled up, rolling down the window and asking if he was Tony Stark. He nodded and got in, sitting in the back, curling up around his bag and staring out the window, hoping this guy would take the hint that it was early and he was tired and he sure as hell didn’t want to talk. 

And he did. Bruce was okay through the half hour drive to the airport. He was okay at the ticket counter. He was okay through security and he was okay sitting at the gate, watching the people slowly milling in, glass-eyed and dazed. He was even okay when he boarded, hemmed into the middle seat, which he expected on a last minute booking. 

It wasn’t until they were in the air and the pilot announced their cruising altitude of 32,000 feet that his jaw started to tremble and he shoved his fist to his mouth, trying to get it to stop. 

But there was no stopping it once it had begun. 

All the cool numbness of the night before had faded, the confidence in his decision this morning was gone, and he was left holding the embers of a fire he hadn’t fully extinguished before he picked them up. Everything hurt. The void inside him was replaced by nothing but pain. The idea of being back in Boston without Tony was almost insufferable. He wouldn’t be able to escape the lack of him there, in their apartment. Steve would ask, Pietro. Shit, Rhodey, too, who knew about them. What happened to Tony? Why didn’t he come back from Miami?

Pepper – fuck. What if Pepper asked? What in the hell was he supposed to say to  _ her _ ? 

He couldn’t even seen the seat in front of him as his eyes filled with tears and he tried to shove it all back down, swallow it away, but he could feel his heart breaking and there was no where to put it where it wouldn’t spill out.

Tony was everywhere – not just their apartment. He was... He was at work, splitting a sandwich with him at night, bitching about professors in the lab. He was at lunch, sitting in the commons, laughing about some joke he’d heard. He was in the hallways of the math building and he was playing frisbee in the courtyard and he was hanging around their favorite pizza joint and he was a bus ride into the city for sushi and a late night building some kind of rocket model to prove a professor wrong. He was everywhere,  _ everywhere _ . 

It was only five months but Christ – how was he going to make it five months?

He was flat out sobbing, head in his hands, wishing he could just melt into the seat and disappear, escape life on this planet in this corporeal form. It was just too fucking painful. It was just too much for one person to bear. 

The man next to him was slowly trying to evacuate through the window so he didn’t have to deal with someone in the seat next to him having a literal breakdown and the older woman in the aisle was clearly distraught, patting him cautiously on the knee and telling him it would be okay. 

Bruce shook his head pitifully, knowing that wasn’t true. Or it wouldn’t be – not for a long time.

If only Tony had come back with him. It was too much to ask for him to accept losing both him and Betty in the space of two weeks.

Finally he managed to calm down enough to tell the woman next to him that he didn’t want to talk about it and close his eyes even though his sleep was fitful and born more out of emotional exhaustion than actual tiredness.

He didn’t feel much better dragging himself off the plane, through the airport, and out into the brutal cold of January in Boston. The public transit trip back from the airport took an hour and required three changeovers and while he normally thought Boston was a beautiful city, it just seemed dark and hopeless now – condensed piles of old snow stacked in walkways, salt and dirt clinging to cars, everything merged into an oppressive grayscale in the winter sun.

When he finally trudged into the welcome familiarity of his hall and dug his key from his bag all he wanted was to crawl into bed and cry. Bruce felt worse than when they had arrived in Miami after driving for over twenty four hours straight. He felt like he’d been hit by that proverbial bag of bricks dropped from a fifteen story window and he was sure he looked just as bad. He felt strung out and shaky, like he couldn’t get the feeling of Tony pressed up against him off his skin.

And he opened the door to the sound of laughter and television and he stared across the room at Steve and his buddy Sharon in the living room, drinking beer and watching some sports game and they both looked over at him, surprised. 

“Bruce?” Steve asked as Bruce managed to plaster over his face with a smile. “How was Miami?” 

Bruce swallowed though his mouth felt like cotton and he shrugged a little bit, trying to conjure up something that wouldn’t make him instantly burst into tears. Steve was a good guy but... he  _ really _ didn’t want to talk about it right then. 

“Good,” he said. “Warm.”

Steve’s eyes went from him to the door and back to him in confusion. 

“Where’s Tony?” 

Bruce felt his jaw want to betray him but he bit the inside of his cheek and tamped it down. He was not going to cry in front of them. He was  _ not _ going to cry.

“He’s staying a few more days. I had to get back to make sure I got my lab job back this semester.” 

Sharon was nodding casually and Steve smiled, clearly buying the lie. 

“We’re going to go halfsies on some pizza later if you want in,” he offered but Bruce just wrung his hand on the bag handle, moving towards his room. 

“Nah man, I appreciate it though,” he said as he unlocked his door.

He hadn’t eaten anything since the night before but the idea of putting anything in his mouth made him feel physically ill. 

“Let us know if you change your mind,” Sharon called after him but Bruce just shut the door, staring at the blank and simple space he thought of as home now.

He had always thought of his room as a safe space, a calm haven in an otherwise chaotic world. But standing in it now it just felt empty. How could he get so used to sleeping with someone else after only a week and a half? 

Bruce dropped his bag and slipped off his shoes, sitting down on the bed. He hadn’t slept in this room since breaking up with Betty. It felt strange. It felt like a year had passed since he’d been here last. 

He felt painfully alone and he heard the reverberation of Steve and Sharon’s laughter through the wall. Without thinking about it too hard, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Betty that he was home, needing to talk to someone, but having managed to fuck it up with both of the people who knew him best, both of the people he trusted most, both of his best friends.  

Swallowing reflexively he pulled up his gallery, staring at the pictures Natasha had sent him of them dancing, Tony staring into his eyes like he was the only thing in the world, the only thing that mattered. The picture he’d taken of them in bed together, flushed and smiling, Tony’s face so goofy and just... so genuinely happy. The picture he had saved of them on the boat that was so warm, so casual and fun and he viscerally remembered how it felt to be out there, watching the dolphins and laughing with Tony, even in the midst of their misunderstanding.

And then there was Betty. Grinning in her hat with the snowflakes clinging to it. Smiling over lunch at her favorite french bistro. Presenting a lecture to the biology department in a smart grey suit. Studying in the library, smiling at him from behind a book.

He hadn’t deserved either of them and he lost them both. He knew he just had to put his head down – get through this final semester, graduate, get a job – that none of this relationship stuff really mattered but...  _ fuck _ if it didn’t hurt so goddamn bad. But there was nothing else to do. It was only five months. Only five months.

But until then Bruce did the only thing he could do – he buried his face in his pillow and cried. 


	15. Saturday, January 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun fact about MIT that I didn't know prior to researching for this fic: in January they have an independent studies period called IAP and you can take additional abbreviated courses in whatever you want or not. *rainbow star* The More You Know

_ It was just a rebound, right? _

Bruce stared at the notification on his screen. It had been there for over a day now but he refused to clear it, refused to do anything with it. What was he supposed to say? He honestly didn’t know if it had just been a rebound or not. 

It had only been a few days and it still fucking hurt. Bruce tried to focus on literally anything else – he went and got his lab job back, he read through his thesis, he prepared for his IAP communications course. But at night he lay awake, his mind racing, his heart aching, and he knew the only thing that was going to help was time but... fuck. It still hurt. 

And then Tony messaged him  _ that _ ? Of everything he could have said? Wanting some kind of confirmation that it hadn’t meant as much as it did? Permission to let it go?

Bruce was pissed. He wasn’t going to give him the fucking satisfaction. 

But it was the only notification so he slipped the phone back in his pocket as he walked down to the coffee shop he was supposed to be meeting Betty at, figuring if she hadn’t messaged him then she was on time and he was going to be late. Only five minutes, but still. He didn’t like to keep her waiting.

She waved at him when he entered, a hesitant little thing, where she sat at a corner table with a coffee, and he nodded with a forced smile before he moved to the counter. He really wasn’t looking forward to this. What was there to say?

He ordered a cheap black coffee, mostly so they wouldn’t have to go through a whole thing where she offered to buy him something and he sat there feeling embarrassed that she wouldn’t just let it go. He still couldn’t bring himself to eat anything other than a handful of crackers, a piece of cold pizza from the fridge, a Red Bull. It was too hard. He simply had no appetite even though he knew he had to eat. 

She smiled as he walked up to the little two person table, looking him up and down and then laughing. 

“Are you wearing ladies shoes?” 

Bruce paused as he sat down, looking at the shoes Tony bought him in Miami. They were ridiculously impractical for a Boston winter but he couldn’t bring himself to wear his sneakers. He just threw socks on underneath them and let his toes go numb. 

Now he felt weirdly self-conscious about it, wondering if they  _ were _ ladies shoes. No one had said anything to him about it before. 

“I lost my boots in Miami,” Bruce explained. “Tony bought me these.”

Her smile was unsure, surprised, like she wasn’t expecting that. “You lost your boots?” 

Bruce sighed and took a sip of his coffee. This story would not impress her. 

“We were drunk. It was Christmas. Tony had purchased a whole bunch of fireworks on the way down – I didn’t even know about it.” She made a face and Bruce shrugged. “But we went out to the beach to shoot them off – which, yeah, I know, I warned him I didn’t think that was legal. But I took off my boots on the sand, and then...” 

He took a deep breath, watching the way her face contorted as he continued and knowing she was going to ream him about it. 

“Beach patrol or whatever got on to us and we ran and I left them there on the beach.”

Betty blinked, utterly beside herself. 

“You  _ ran _ ? From the authorities?” 

Bruce huffed. “I don’t think they were really ‘authorities.’”

“Bruce!” She sounded shocked. “What if they had caught you? You could have at least been fined!” 

That was probably true, but they hadn’t been caught, it hadn’t really seemed like that big a deal. He remembered laughing on the floor of the room when he got back, Tony laughing with him. It had seemed fun, then. It seemed... He didn’t know. Betty was right but it also didn’t seem like that big a deal. 

Thankfully she let it slide, just shaking her head in disbelief as she sipped at her drink and pulled apart a croissant. 

“You had a good time then?” she asked, a little guarded, like she didn’t want to know the answer. 

“I did,” he admitted, knowing it was nearly impossible to lie to her – and what was the point?

“You looked happy,” she replied, peeling off a flaky layer of pastry, clearly not enjoying what she was saying. “Happier than I’ve seen you in months. I couldn’t help watching Tony’s posts.”

Bruce bit down on the inside of his cheek and exhaled shakily. It was hard. He still felt... Even despite her judgement and the way she knew just how to make him feel small, she was still such a big part of his life and she was the only person he told everything to for so long. She really had been his best friend. Maybe their relationship couldn’t be romantic or sexual or whatever anymore, but he still felt so close to her. Seeing her now, he still loved her. But it was different, too. 

He really just wanted to lay his head against her chest and tell her all about it, tell her how much it all hurt, let her hug him and kiss his head and tell him it would be okay, like she always did. But it was completely unfair to ask that of her and he knew it. He didn’t know what to say. 

“I was.” 

Just admitting it out loud, to her, was so bad. And it hurt so fucking bad. He wasn’t going to start crying in front of her – fuck, he hoped not – but she brought all his defenses down so easily and it was hard not to. Bruce chugged back coffee that was too hot just to stop it. 

“Then you understand what I was trying to say?” she asked quietly and he stared at the cup, nodding, his grasp on his emotions tenuous at best. “I do love you but... I’m just not sure it’s enough for us.”

Bruce felt tears sting his eyes and he stared at the ceiling, trying to blink them away. “I know.”

“Bruce,” she said softly, reaching out and covering his hands with her own. “It’s okay.”

But he was shaking his head though, because it wasn’t okay, not really. That’s the way it always was. Loving him just wasn’t enough.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I know,” he replied, swallowing hard, wondering what the hell that even meant. Who knew what made someone else happy? How were they supposed to make that decision for someone else?

“I just...” Her hand on his was running little circles on his wrist, comforting, and he swallowed again, wanting all of it to go away. “I’m surprised you’re this upset, to be honest. The pictures...”

Bruce laughed a little, short and sad, and he pulled a hand away to wipe at his eyes. How could he even begin to explain? Did he even want to? Not really. He knew Betty would understand, it was just... really awkward. And embarrassing.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, sniffling, trying to pull himself together. “It’s just been a lot.”

Betty looked at him a moment, making him uncomfortable, doing that thing where it was like she was taking him apart piece by piece until she could ascertain exactly what was wrong. 

“What happened in Miami?” she asked at last, still holding his hands, and he looked away, too vulnerable to answer that question to her face.

“Nothing,” he said, feeling at her skepticism and repeating it. “Nothing, really, it’s...”

Bruce stopped and pressed a hand to his face, over his eyes, trying to hold it together and maintain his hard fought for control. 

“Tony didn’t come back with me.”

“What?” Betty asked, her hand tightening around the one of his she still held, clearly not expecting that.

“He’s not coming back and I –” Bruce stopped short of what he wanted to say, wasn’t sure if it was even true, but even if it was, he couldn’t say it to her. “I feel like I’ve lost both of you.”

“Hey,” she said softly, reaching out for the arm covering his face and putting her hand at the crook of his elbow. “You haven’t lost me. I’m always going to be here for you, okay?” 

Bruce nodded but it was hard to feel it with the shroud of misery on his shoulders. 

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce moaned, putting down his hand, covering hers with it and looking at her again. “I guess he thinks if he had a job and was more responsible Pepper wouldn’t have had the abortion.”

“Well that’s ridiculous,” Betty said and Bruce was so thankful to hear her say it too. “What was she going to do with a baby right now? And he only has a semester left! Why would he drop out now?” 

“I know,” Bruce replied, instantly feeling validated by her reply and encouraged to open up to her a little more, almost like things were normal between them. “I mean, there’s more to it than that, I’m sure, obviously he’s pretty hurt about it, apparently it was pretty bad –”

“Yeah – Pepper told me.”

“She did?” 

Betty nodded somberly. 

“He didn’t really talk about it but what he did say, it sounded rough. And then we –” 

Bruce stopped suddenly and looked away, unsure what to say, wishing he hadn’t put his foot in his mouth like that. 

“And then you...?” Betty prompted and he withdrew his hands from hers, feeling like an ass. 

There really was no good way of saying what he was going to say. Especially not to your ex. Who you only really broke up with two weeks ago. Or maybe now. 

“Had sex.”

“ _ What _ ?” 

He didn’t dare steal a glance at her but her voice said it all. There was nothing she expected to hear less than that. 

“It just happened,” he exhaled, every word coming out faster than the last as his chest tied itself in knots waiting for her judgement and anger. “We were both just so fucked up and depressed but it just made everything worse.”

It was a while before she said anything to that. He could only imagine she was reeling but there was nothing he could say to make it better. And maybe it was better that she knew. That he just ripped that bandaid off and told her to her face so that it didn’t get back to her later. It didn’t matter anyway. Tony wasn’t coming back. He was pretty sure there was nothing she could say that would hurt more than that.  

“How?” she finally asked and Bruce looked up at her then, not expecting that, unsure what she even meant. 

Her eyes were distant like she was trying to piece together a puzzle just on the edge of her horizon and that was much better than what he was expecting. If she had stormed out – which he had truly expected – Bruce would have forgiven her for it.

“How did it make things worse?” she clarified, looking at him then, and it was clear she was a little hurt – but how could she not have been? “The pictures...”

“Because he asked me to stay and I said no.”

“Bruce,” she replied sympathetically, holding out her hands for his again. “You couldn’t stay in Miami. Your scholarship! You only have a semester left.”

He took her hands again, the weight on his chest easing just a little to hear her say it, to hear her agree. He’d spent the past three days wondering ‘what if’ and he was just so grateful to have her agree. 

“And it had been what? A week? I know you’ve known Tony a long time but to go from friends to moving in together in another state in a week is moving a little fast.”

Bruce nodded, something he hadn’t even thought about, but she was right. That was very fast. Too fast. It would have been a dumb thing to do.  

“Especially for a rebound.”

“It wasn’t –” 

Bruce stopped himself instantly and wondered what in the hell he was saying, so readily defending their fledgling relationship like that. To his ex, no less. Wasn’t it a rebound? Tony seemed to think so. It seemed obvious to Betty what it was. Was he just fucking dumb?

“– like that,” he finished lamely, repeating the line he had told Natasha when they first met, even though it felt like a lie. “It was even less than that.”

“But it made you happy.”

Bruce nodded, staring at their hands as she squeezed a little. Why did she have to be so damn sympathetic? Now he almost wished she had tarred and feathered him. 

“It’s okay for it to be hard. It’s been hard on me too.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce murmured, feeling suckerpunched and hollow inside. 

But she just stood and stepped over to him, wrapping his shoulders in a hug. And he pressed his face into her stomach, taking in her warmth, her comfort, the sweet scent of verbena that she always seemed to wear. Bruce ached inside to be held by her like that and he just wished... For a brief moment he wished none of it had happened at all and that they could go back to how it was before, before the trip, before their fight, before things spiraled so out of control in their relationship that he couldn’t just appreciate the good things they had.

“I love you,” she said quietly, cradling his head with one hand, and he sucked in a tremulous breath. 

“I love you, too.” 

And it was the truth. Because part of him would always love her. Always. Even if it had changed. Even if it wasn’t the same fervent, all-consuming love that it once had been. Even if it was something else. He still loved her. 

“I’m sorry I have to go, but I want to see you again soon, okay?” 

He nodded dumbly, feeling numb, wishing he could have said something to her, something to help her, instead of just focusing on his problems. 

“And remember, I’m here for you too, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

She gave him one last squeeze on the shoulder before she picked up her cup and left. And Bruce sat there for a long time, looking at her empty seat. He mourned her absence harder than he expected he would. He wanted to believe he had already let her go, but she was still there, hanging around his heart, and it still hurt. But then she was right, too. It was okay for it to hurt. It was just going to take time. 

He stood and threw away the cup, checking his phone as he walked to the bus. And just like always there was that goddamn notification, waiting for him. 

_ It was just a rebound, right? _

But this time he double tapped it and replied what he knew in his heart to be true. 

_ No. _


	16. Friday, January 25

Bruce sat at the table in the empty apartment, a half eaten sandwich next to his laptop, a mess of printouts across it, buried deep in the bibliography for his thesis. It had been three weeks and he finally felt like things were returning to some kind of normal. His appetite was better, his focus had improved. He made it through his IAP communications course somehow. His thesis was making progress. He’d not seen Betty since the coffeeshop but they texted a little bit and it wasn’t great but it felt okay. 

And at least during the day he had managed to stop thinking about Tony too much, stopped worrying about Tony’s social media blackout and what that meant, stopped wondering if he was going to call and have his room sublet or have someone get his stuff, stopped asking if anyone had seen him at their local haunts, stopped seeing his face around every corner, waiting for him with a warm smile.

But at night?

At night Bruce still wondered what Tony was doing, who he was with. Was he still at their room in South Beach? Was he even still in Miami? Did he find someone else to fuck away his pain with? Was Tony thinking about him right then, the way he was thinking about Tony?

Every night he came to the conclusion that the answer was no, that he should just let it go and move on. But he still pulled up their pictures and flipped through them and they didn’t make him cry anymore but he still longed for it. He would look over at the wall they shared in the apartment, thinking about the empty room beyond it, wishing he hadn’t taken for granted how many times Tony lay on the other side of that wall, safe. He would have given anything to know he was there right now. 

But at that moment he wasn’t thinking about anything other than the CSE documentation guidelines and where the publication date was supposed to fall in a citation.

He sighed and pulled his hand through his hair, tapping the case of his laptop in frustration. Why was citation so miserable? It was pretty straight forward, really, but compiling all that information was just – 

When the door slammed open Bruce startled, looking over with an impolitely worded admonishment for Steve or Pietro. But it wasn’t Steve or Pietro. 

It was Tony. 

Bruce was so shocked that on reflex he stood, knocking paper across the floor, backing up straight into the couch behind him in some kind of attempt at defense even though there was nothing to defend himself from other than the shadows of abuse laying dormant in his own mind, waiting to be triggered. 

But Tony wasn’t really much of a threat. Frankly, he looked like shit. His hair was greasy and his goatee was growing out and he looked like he lost about ten pounds. His eyes were dark circles sunken into his face and they looked wild and dangerous but... But he was holding a bouquet and as soon as their eyes met the look of relief that came across his face was mirrored in the relief Bruce felt rolling through his body just to see him, here. In Boston. Home.

“Bruce,” he breathed out, shaking as he approached, letting the door fall shut behind him. 

But Tony stopped a few feet short and Bruce was simultaneously relieved and devastated. All he wanted was to wrap his arms around him, hold him tight, bury his face in his neck and tell him it was all going to be okay now, he was okay and it was going to be okay. But he also wanted to keep his wits about him and not give in so easily. What Tony had done had hurt and he wanted to hear it from him, hear that he made a mistake, that he was wrong, that he wanted to  _ be _ with him, that it wasn’t just a fucking rebound. 

“I – fuck,” he finally stuttered out, voice shaking, “I’m so sorry.”

Bruce’s resolve was crumbling by the second as words started tumbling out of Tony in one giant rush. 

“I was just so sure I knew what I wanted and I didn’t expect – I had it all planned out. And then you – fuck Bruce, I wasn’t expecting to – to  _ fall in love with you _ .” 

Bruce could feel his jaw start to tremble hearing the words he’d longed to hear for three lonely weeks, words he was sure he never would. How was he just supposed to stand there when Tony was in the middle of the floor, pouring his heart out? But how was he supposed to move when he stood there transfixed, watching it unfold like he was in a dream, knowing this couldn’t really be real but  _ it was _ .

“I just wanted to be done with this, all of it. I just want – I want to be free, I want to be my own person. I’m so fucking tired of being Tony Stark! I’m so done with my dad’s expectations, the school’s expectations, society’s expectations – that I’m going to get a good job and make so much money and do so much good with my life – it’s all such fucking  _ bullshit _ . And the closer we get to graduation the more that gets shoved down my throat and I can’t fucking take it anymore, I just want to be  _ done _ and – and then...”

He took a deep breath and it came out all weird and Bruce’s heart ached for him. 

“Who cares if I’m just a mechanic? Couldn’t that be enough?” he asked and he sounded so lost that it broke Bruce’s heart. 

“ _ Of course _ it would be enough,” Bruce said at last, his voice thick with unrestrained emotion and Tony’s face curled up on itself and he bit his lower lip to stop himself from crying. 

“You’re the only one who doesn’t care.” 

And Tony took the last few steps towards him as if they were nothing, as if time and space had folded itself to mold them together. And he dropped the flowers for something better to hold, wrapping his arms around Bruce and collapsing into him. And he weighed nothing in Bruce’s arms but to Bruce it felt like the gaping hole he’d been carrying around in his chest was filled now, the missing piece brought home and he didn’t care what Tony did or how or why – as long as he stayed there. As long as he didn’t leave him again. 

“I’ll wait for you, we’ll do it right, we’ll do it your way,” he babbled into Bruce’s chest. “I know you need to graduate, I know, I was just being selfish, I just didn’t want –”

“Tony,” Bruce said, squeezing him tighter to his chest, letting him know it was okay to shut up. 

“– I didn’t want to face it, I didn’t think it mattered, but fuck, I missed you so much.”

Bruce felt like crying it hurt so good to hear Tony say it as he pressed his lips to Tony’s temple. 

“I missed you too,” he replied earnestly and Tony tried to bury his face even deeper into Bruce’s neck. 

“I should never have stayed, I should have listened, I should have sucked it up and just come back with you, I’m so fucking sorry, I –”

“Hey,” Bruce interrupted again, twisting his fingers in his too-long hair and dragging his head back to look at him, make sure he understood – he didn’t have to be sorry. “You’re  _ here _ . You came back.”

And with that Tony kissed him. Christ he’d wanted it, thought about it so many times, how it felt, just to be the object of Tony’s affection, and now it was really, really happening. And Tony tasted like cigarettes and 5-hour Energy but it was perfect. It still felt perfect.

They separated a moment, just slightly, just enough to catch their breath but then Tony was on him again, clutching at the back of his neck and pressing him so hard to his mouth it hurt and Bruce didn’t stop him. He understood. He needed it too.

“I got a place in Miami, I put down a deposit,” he confessed as he pulled away again, Bruce feeling dazed as he looked at him, like he still couldn’t be sure this was real. “And I stood there in that little empty apartment and I realized I wanted it – all of it. You and your mom and two cats and – and a real house with a yard and just a – a  _ life _ , you know, and – it doesn’t have to be now but –”

“I want it too,” Bruce said before Tony asked, before Tony felt like he’d made him say it, watching his wide eyes fill with inexpressible gratitude just to hear him say it of his own free will and it made Bruce want to say more, made him want to make Tony understand just how much he wanted that too. “I want  _ you _ . Getting on that plane was one of the hardest things I ever had to do but I couldn’t –”

“I know,” Tony cut him off. “I’m such an asshole.” 

And before he could refute it Tony kissed him again, more assured than before, less needy, more like...  _ him _ . Bruce melted into it, holding him close, hoping he could give him all the affirmation he needed in a kiss. I’m so glad you’re back, he said. I missed you so much. It means so fucking much that you came back for me. 

Then they both heard the door fall shut at the same time and they stopped, frozen in place barely a half inch apart and they heard Steve clear his throat. 

“Hey there – I...” he trailed off awkwardly and Bruce looked past Tony’s head as he beelined to his room, issuing a quick apology before closing the door quickly behind him. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“Oh my god,” Tony groaned, burying his head in Bruce’s shoulder, blushing. “He’s going to give us  _ so _ much shit.”

Bruce laughed. He realized it might have been the first time he’d really laughed since leaving Miami but it didn’t matter. It felt so  _ good _ , laughing with Tony in his arms. It felt natural, it felt right. It felt like everything he wanted, right there, in his arms. He was whole. 

“Come on,” Bruce said, ruffling his hair. “You have to be exhausted.”

Tony huffed out a weak laugh as he let his hands fall from Bruce’s body reluctantly, like if he let him go he was going to disappear. But Bruce wouldn’t. As long as Tony wanted to try, he wouldn’t. 

He picked up the bouquet off the floor and chuckled, turning to face Tony, looking at him over the less than artfully arranged roses tucked between freesias and daisies. 

“I can’t believe you bought me flowers.” 

“It was kind of spur of the moment.”

Tony was clearly embarrassed now, after they made up, but the idea of him picking them up on a twenty four hour road trip with no sleep in a gas station somewhere because he was desperate to be reunited with him made something in Bruce’s chest feel entirely too tight.

Bruce shut his laptop and reached for Tony’s hand, leading him in to his room and shutting the door behind him, setting the flowers on his desk and dragging Tony down into bed with him. It wasn’t like their big king sized bed in Miami – it was just a shitty dorm room twin extra long with ugly red sheets Bruce bought on clearance for nothing at Bed Bath and Beyond and Tony had to practically lay on top of him just to fit but Bruce didn’t care. He held him close and kissed him and it was all he could hope for – a decent place where he felt safe and it didn’t have to be perfect or exactly what they wanted really because it was enough just to be with him, to love him. All he ever wanted was something just like this.

“I did too, you know,” he whispered against Tony’s lips, their kisses falling away as Tony’s eyes closed, exhaustion settling in now that he was there, safely tucked up in his arms.

“Hmm?” he asked, opening them just enough to meet Bruce’s. 

“I fell in love with you too.”

“You’re so good,” Tony mumbled, grinning at him as he closed his eyes, basking in the confession and making Bruce’s heart feel full, more than full,  _ bursting _ with everything he’d stuffed inside for Tony.

But now? Bruce could let it grow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But she said, where'd you wanna go?  
> How much you wanna risk?  
> I'm not looking for somebody  
> With some superhuman gifts  
> Some superhero  
> Some fairytale bliss  
> Just something I can turn to  
> Somebody I can kiss  
> I want something just like this 
> 
> \-- Coldplay w/ The Chainsmokers


End file.
